Duplicity
by WhoMe-2
Summary: Rose Tyler is a woman with a mysterious, troubled past. A past that compels her into a life of dangerous deceit, fueled by a fierce distrust of men. But her life as she's known it is about to be turned on its head when she's caught at her own game by one John Smith, a man like no other who uncovers her past, confronts her present, and may forever change her future. Ten/Rose AU.
1. Prologue

**A/N** This AU adaption is based off the Hitchcock film "Marnie." But there will be various deviations, and prior knowledge is not needed to follow along. Just trust me when I say Ten & Rose are delicious in the roles. ;)

In my mind this takes place in an alternate reality where many of the same DW characters exist (albeit at a different point in time for some) but whose lives have taken a different path, including the Doctor's counterpart, John Smith. With that in mind, enjoy!

* * *

 **Prologue**

Harold Saxon was enraged. He was _not_ a man to be double-crossed, yet a brazen young con woman had done just that. She had strolled into his office, used his lecherous disposition to her advantage by landing a position based on little more than sex appeal, and when his guard was down, had gained access to his personal strongbox and walked off with a sizable chunk of change. _His_ chunk of change.

She was going to pay for this. He would revel in delivering his own personal brand of retribution if he ever got his hands on her again.

"I want her perfect little arse thrown in prison!" the victimized businessman raged to the police investigators on the scene. "If she hasn't been found and arrested before the day is through, I'll have every last one in your department investigated for incompetence!" Saxon stalked back and forth in his posh Southampton office, slamming a fist down on his mahogany desk as he continued his rant. "If that lying tart thinks she can do something like this to me without living to regret it, then she is _very_ much mistaken. I _know_ it was her. That Andrea Prentice, as she called herself. Always the women," he groused, dropping down into his leather armchair.

"Can you give us a description, Mister Saxon?" the middle-aged Detective Inspector asked evenly, nodding to his Sergeant to jot down the specifics.

Saxon gazed off in lustful recollection. "She has lush dark hair, alluring caramel eyes, long, shapely legs, and those _lips_ of hers…"

The two detectives exchanged a knowing smirk. "And she's been an administrative assistant here for the past two months?"

Saxon straightened in his chair, refocusing. "Yes, that's right. During which time I've demonstrated the utmost…fondness for her. As any good employer would, of course. And to make her feel even more at ease here, to show her she was welcome in my personal sanctum at any time, I gave her a key to this office just yesterday. And what do I get out of her in return? _This_. I assure you this was _not_ what I had in mind when extending that particular liberty."

"I'm quite sure," the DI's dry voice responded.

Lucy, Saxon's wife and private secretary, entered the room then, eyeing the scene with mild curiosity as she swayed forward in a form-fitting red dress. Harry beckoned her to his side, his arm outstretched and a look of exaggerated despondency on his face. "Ah, Lucy…the most faithful and dedicated of all my personnel. I shouldn't have tried to supplement some of your…duties with that of an untrustworthy woman." He slung his arm around her hip, pulling her to him, his words low and almost threatening. "You would _never_ betray me."

"Of course not," Lucy answered, her voice dull and smile mechanical.

"What were the woman's references?" the young Sergeant cut in.

Saxon cleared his throat, casting about for an answer. "Well…they were…"

"Don't you remember, Harry?" his wife interjected, toneless. "She had none when you hired her on the spot."

The DI raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Doesn't your tax firm handle records of the sensitive nature?"

Saxon waved a hand, a subtle smirk forming. "Ah, well…her duties were to be of the…unofficial variety. In which case her qualifications were more than adequate."

"I see."

Saxon's attention then shifted to a man just outside the doorway. "Ah, Dr. Smith!" He stood, shrugging off his wife. "I wasn't expecting you until later today. Can you believe this injustice? I've been robbed! _Me_. Nearly twenty thousand pounds."

Dr. John Smith ambled into the office, hands pocketed within brown pinstriped trousers. "By the attractive female you were just discussing, lacking in references but little else?"

"That's the one," Harry seethed. "Andrea Prentice. You saw her once yourself. I pointed her out the last time you were in, actually. As I recall you gave her a rather long assessment..."

Dr. Smith gazed upward in thought, tongue pressed behind his teeth. "Ahhh, yes. _That_ one. The brunette with the…," he cleared his throat, "…pleasing anatomical attributes."

"Excuse me. And you are?" the DI questioned.

"John Smith. My corporation is a client of Mister Saxon's consulting firm." He looked back to Saxon, fighting a smirk at the man's expense. "But I think I'd better come back at another time to discuss business, considering the dire circumstances here."

"I intend to have that little charlatan locked away for years," Saxon vowed. "I should have known she was too good to be true. Hard worker, willing to put in overtime, always smiling that smile of hers. And yet…always crossing her ankles and pulling her skirt down as if protecting the Crown Jewels." His jaw tightened. "It was all just a wicked game. She was so…so…"

John Smith arched a brow. "Clever?"

Saxon growled, sinking back down in his chair.

Dr. Smith excused himself from the offices of Saxon & Company, his mind pondering this turn of events. None of this was really his concern, yet his interest was piqued. Anyone who had the audacity to cross Harold Saxon must have nerves of steel. Or a death wish.

Simply put, Saxon was a sleaze. John disliked associating with him, but the man knew his business when it came to tax consulting. As of late, John had to ensure that every aspect of his corporation had each I dotted and every T crossed. TARDIS Corporation, an emerging leader in the field of technological advancement, had come under investigation a few years back due to safety concerns and allegations of conducting hazardous experimentations. The last thing he needed was to fall under the scrutiny of HM Revenue and Customs. If that meant dealing with the devil on occasion, so be it.

Stepping through Saxon's doors certainly made for an interesting experience today, if nothing else. He wouldn't mind being a detective right about now, the scientist thought. He quite fancied learning more about this Miss Prentice himself, his inquisitive nature now roused. She was as beautiful as she was cunning, apparently. Alluring yet dangerous, he mused. Like a rose with thorns.

-:-:-:-

Rose Tyler packed her bags with practiced haste, preparing to depart her Southampton hotel. She'd not given out this address during her two months here, but she wasn't taking any chances by sticking around longer than necessary. Packing wouldn't take long, since she planned to discard her old wardrobe in order to play it safe. She could certainly afford to buy an all new one.

Turning her attention to her purse, she tucked away Andrea Prentice's ID cards for later disposal and placed her own back in her wallet. Time for another new identity. She would have to give thought to another name. Growing up on a council estate had few perks, but it did have some. Luckily she knew the sort who could set her up with fraudulent IDs for a price. So far the arrangement was working rather well for all concerned.

The packing complete, she went to the en-suite to transform her chestnut-dyed hair back to blonde, though perhaps a few shades lighter than her natural honey tone for her next…business venture.

She was already contemplating what and where her next similar job might be. At twenty-two, Rose had been at this "profession" for nearly two years now. It might not be the way she would have pictured her adult life shaping up. But then, she'd never really pictured her future anyway. She had few aspirations and even fewer options. This, however, actually made her a success at something.

She was patient and attentive in her craft, biding her time for the right opportunity and allowing no detail to escape her notice. In doing so, she had learned where in Saxon's office the key to his strongbox was kept. She had learned that the key to the inner office itself, however, was kept on Saxon's person. She wasn't going anywhere near _that_ , regardless of the payoff. As it turned out, she hadn't needed to. He had been unwittingly accommodating in that regard.

It wasn't as if she was really harming anyone in all this, she told herself. Men like Harold Saxon had money to burn. And she no doubt could have negotiated for the key to his office _and_ his strongbox had she rolled over and opened her legs for him as he would have liked. Men like that, all too common in her experience, deserved to part with a few pounds simply for their treatment of women.

But enough thoughts of Saxon and all those like him. For now, at least. Before transforming her identity for her next undertaking, it was time to be Rose Tyler again, just for a bit. She had the means to pay her mum a visit without feeling like little more than a disappointment. She'd acquired nearly twenty thousand pounds this go-round. It might not buy her the Koh-I-Noor, but she could certainly get her mum an impressive trinket or two. Maybe this time Rose could actually find favor in the eyes of Jackie Tyler. Bought approval was better than none at all. Love, on the other hand, was something that likely couldn't be attained with all the money in the world.

Rose steeled herself against such thoughts. She didn't need love. Not from her mum. Not from anyone. All that Rose needed she could obtain for herself, the means notwithstanding.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N** Rose Tyler returns home, but the visit brings familiar feelings of unease.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Upon arrival in London, Rose's first stop was the boarding house just outside the city where she resided whenever in town. Whenever she was simply Rose. Striding briskly, she ascended the stone steps of the old country house, anxious to unpack and get settled so she could focus on reacquainting herself with her beloved friend who also resided here – a sleek young thoroughbred who was her pride and joy, and the only indulgent purchase she had ever made for herself.

"It's lovely to see you back, Miss Tyler!" said Isobel MacLeish in greeting, the widowed proprietress of the Torchwood boarding house. Upon the untimely death of her husband Robert a few years back, young Isobel had relocated from Scotland to England, acquiring this home which she renamed after the manor where she and her husband had once dwelt. Some said this old place was haunted. Rose didn't doubt it. She reckoned it was populated with the ghosts they _all_ brought with them.

"Thank you, Isobel. I'm so happy to be back."

"Work must be keeping you quite busy," the woman noted.

"Um…yeah, it is." Rose cleared her throat then smiled, anticipation lighting her features. "Can someone have my horse brought from the stables? I'd like to go for a ride in a bit."

"Of course. I'll have him fetched for you whenever you'd like."

Rose grinned. "Thanks. I'm just gonna run up and change."

Soon, Rose was outfitted in her standard riding attire – simple jeans and a favorite jumper – and was dashing across the grounds to greet her one and only love. A gorgeous black stallion was already saddled and being led from its stall to meet her.

"Lykos! Oh, Lykos," Rose joyfully exclaimed, nuzzling the steed and stroking his long, sleek mane. "I've missed you so much."

"He's missed you, too, m'lady," said the burly stable hand in thick Cockney. "Been positively cross since you left. Even tried to bite me this mornin', he did."

Rose was unfazed. Nothing could tarnish this beauty in her eyes. "Oh, you're living up to your name. Aren't you, my wolf? Eh? Well, you can bite me anytime," Rose crooned. "And you're the _only_ fella I'd say that to."

Grinning widely, Rose mounted her horse, gave a swift kick and galloped away. She rode with abandon over the English hillside, feeling as free as the breeze that swept through her hair and momentarily having not a care in the world. It was an illusion, but one she always clung tightly to, no matter how brief.

-:-:-:-

The liberating ride had helped Rose center herself and recharge, and she knew she was going to need it in order to face the rest of the day. She loved her mum, but visits often left her feeling drained. There had always been an unspoken strain in their relationship. The sense of tension was undefined, but it was there nonetheless. She supposed mother/daughter relationships were not always picture-perfect, but this stemmed from something…deeper. Ever since she was a child, Rose often felt as if there was something inherently wrong with her that kept her mum at a distance.

Oh, Jackie never said as much. And it wasn't as if she was entirely lacking in warmth or affection toward her only child. Nevertheless, if Rose ever tried to bring up these concerns, her mum pointedly changed the subject, leaving Rose with nothing but unanswered questions. If Rose's recollection of her childhood wasn't so hazy maybe she could have understood the issue herself, but casting her mind back to the past never yielded more than vague, uneasy impressions rather than solid memories. Why was that? Did she even want to know?

Rose tried to put such thoughts out of her head as she arrived at the Powell Estate. Dwelling on it was never productive, and it wasn't the way she wanted to begin the visit. Instead, she looked ahead to what she hoped would be a brighter future for them both.

As she climbed the stairs to 48 Bucknall House, Rose dreamed of one day having the funds to buy her mum a proper home. She liked to imagine how proud Jackie would be of her then. Her mum worked as a hairdresser for friends and neighbors, along with various side jobs here and there. But her modest wages would never earn her the means to get off the estate. Rose was determined to change that. She could do it, too. So long as men continued to prove themselves to be corrupt animals who unwittingly allowed her into their midst, blinded by primitive lust. Rose shuddered in repulsion at the thought of encountering more versions of Harry Saxon. She could only hope her next position would at least be a little more tolerable.

Unpleasant thoughts were temporarily sidelined in favor of another as the door to the flat opened, revealing an all-too familiar little girl on the other side.

Rose pursed her lips, voice brusque. "Hello, Chloe. Where's my mum?"

"She's in the kitchen. And you know what she's doing? Making a shepherd's pie especially for _me_!" the girl crowed.

Rose scowled. "Of course she is."

"Who is it, Chloe?" came a voice from inside.

Rose pushed past and into the flat. "It's me, Mum! I'm back!"

Jackie Tyler emerged from the kitchen, hands on her hips and expression a mix of exasperation and surprise. "Oh, I don't know why you bother to even have a phone. You never use it! Always travelin' about, never stayin' one place, never enough time to ring like you should."

Despite the familiar reprove, Rose offered her mother a hug. "I know. 'M sorry. But I'm here now, Mum. And–" Her eyes drifted over Jackie's shoulder to land on a vase of fresh gladiolus in the parlor. The sight of the red blooms instantly made her blood run cold. Crimson filled her vision, seeping into every crevice of her awareness and wrapping a stranglehold around her lungs. Rose squeezed her eyes shut.

She couldn't bear the sight. She just _couldn't_.

Rose had never understood why she sometimes experienced these types of reactions. She never wanted to have to think too deeply about it, truth be told. She simply acted instead, moving past her mum, hurrying to the vase and snatching up the objects of offense.

"Those look dreadful in here," Rose explained, plucking up the gladiolus with obvious distaste. "Th-the color's not right for the room."

"Rose, those are still fresh! Bev just brought them 'round last night," Jackie protested. "What'd you mean 'not right for the room?' Listen to you, full of airs and graces. You're becomin' a right snob with that posh job of yours."

"I'll get you some new ones," Rose offered. She thrust the flowers at the little girl standing near. "Here, Chloe. Why don't you go take these to your own mother?"

"I can't. She's still at work," the girl objected. "And I'm supposed to stay here until she gets back, like I always do."

"Then take them to the kitchen. Put them in the bin. Whatever. Just…just get rid of 'em."

"Fine," the little girl grudgingly agreed. "But Miss Jackie and I _like_ gladiolus."

Rose watched Chloe leave the room, finally feeling like she could breathe. She turned back to her mum, voice lowered as she addressed the next issue. "I send you plenty of money, Mum. And there will be more coming. You don't have to work as some…some nanny day in and day out."

"Who says I _have_ to do it?" Jackie countered. "I enjoy it. That little girl's a treasure. Smart as a whip, too. Never a dull moment."

"Oh, I'm sure," Rose remarked in a sour tone, glancing about at the various child's drawings adorning the room. "Looks like Chloe Webber's taken up permanent residence. She's here every time I come over." Rose was aware she sounded jealous. Perhaps even childish and petty. She couldn't help it. The little girl clearly had her mum's affection – a commodity Rose coveted.

"I see you've gone blonde again," Jackie noted, shifting the subject.

"I have, yeah." Rose smoothed her shoulder-length hair in a self-conscious gesture. Her mum used to sport a similar platinum shade many years back, before toning it down to a warmer golden hue. "Don't you like it this way?"

"No," her mum objected outright. "You should've stayed brunette or at least gone darker blonde like mine. That type of color on a woman always looks like she's a tart tryin' to attract the blokes. And like I always say, men and a good reputation don't mix."

Rose almost pointed out to her mum that she used to wear her hair the same color, but she swallowed back the statement. Instead, she changed the subject to something Rose hoped would please her as they both took a seat on the couch. "I bought you something, Mum."

"Oh, Rose. How many times have I gotta say? Don't go spendin' all your money on me."

"Why not? Isn't that what money's for? Besides, there's no one I'd rather spend it on. Here…" With a hopeful smile, Rose reached in her purse and produced a small black velvet box, placing it in her mum's hand.

Jackie opened the lid to reveal a shimmering jeweled ring nestled within. "Blimey," she breathed, taking in the large pink sapphire set in a band of white gold. "When would I even have occasion to wear somethin' like this?"

Rose pulled the ring from the box and placed it on her mum's finger. "Any time you like, that's when. Wear it to the market and make everyone jealous." Rose flit her anxious eyes to her mum's face. "This piece is called Rose Rhapsody. And I thought…I thought you could think of me whenever you wear it."

Jackie shook her head side to side. "Can't imagine goin' around buyin' things like this as if they were simple trinkets."

"I got another raise," Rose answered with a shrug.

Jackie looked up. "I told Bev my daughter's a private secretary to a millionaire. Maybe now she'll believe it."

"Yeah…," Rose answered, purposely vague.

The voice of Chloe interrupted them as she skipped back into the room. "Miss Jackie! You want to see the new picture I made for you?"

Jackie smiled at the girl, more brightly than she had at the ring. "'Course I do, sweetheart. You go fetch it for me." She gazed off in the little girl's direction as Chloe went to retrieve her artwork. "That girl and her drawings. Just like you at that age."

"Her it is!" Chloe called a moment later, proudly presenting her Crayola masterpiece depicting the two of them.

"Well, isn't that lovely!" Jackie gushed. "Reminds me of the pictures Rose used to make for me." Jackie paused. "Especially after my…accident. I was poorly for a bit. She used to draw things to cheer me up. You remember, Rose?" she asked, almost as if quizzing to see what Rose recalled.

Which was very little, both knew. Rose had a vague recollection of her mum being away for a while, during the time Jackie referred to as her accident. But Rose's memories surrounding that time were always hazy at best.

"That was a long time ago. I…I don't remember much from back then," Rose answered haltingly. "I just remember that after you got well you were always busy…always working. Always gone."

"You didn't have a dad around, either?" Chloe asked.

"No," Jackie answered, voice firm. "No other man after my Pete died. Not a one." She forced her features to soften, smiling as she gave the girl a gentle swat. "Now then. Off you go. Your mum should be home about now."

"But what about the shepherd's pie?" the girl asked with a disappointed frown.

"I'll finish it up and bring it 'round tonight. That way your mum won't have to worry about makin' supper after a busy day."

"Oh, all right," Chloe relented as she gave Jackie a parting hug. "Bye, Miss Jackie."

"Bye-bye, sweetheart."

Rose remained quiet during the fond exchange. She turned her attention back to her mum once the door to the flat closed, relieved that they were finally alone. "Do you really like the ring, Mum?"

Jackie lifted her hand and admired the gem. "No man ever gave my anything this posh, I'll say that."

"'Course not. Who needs men?" Rose asserted. "We can do just fine on our own, you an' me. _Better_ than."

"A respectable, self-sufficient woman doesn't have need for a man, to care for her or otherwise," her mum agreed. "I tell everyone, just look at my Rose. She's too smart to go gettin' herself tangled up with some good-for-nothing bloke. I raised you better than that."

Indeed, Rose thought. She had yet to willingly allow a man into her life. In her teens, her mum had kept a tight rein on that sort of thing. Not that Rose had been one of those loose girls around the estate to pursue a boy's attention, but that didn't stop her from _being_ pursued. Now a few years into her adulthood, Rose was finding that men generally lived up to everything her mum had warned her of.

"That's something you don't have to worry about," Rose answered, voice dull.

Jackie stood. "C'mon, then. Let's go see to that shepherd's pie."

Rose stood and followed.

In the kitchen, the two women went about peeling potatoes in amiable silence, but Rose sensed there was something that her mum wanted to say.

"Something on your mind, Mum?" Rose finally asked.

Jackie looked up. "I've been thinkin', is all. I thought I might ask Chloe and Trish to move in here with me. Got the extra space now that you're hardly ever around. Trish is a decent, hard working woman tryin' to raise a child on her own. I know what that's like. It ain't easy. I could help."

Rose put down her knife, fisting her hands in the dishtowel as she wiped them off. "What you really mean is you want _Chloe_ living here with you. Isn't that it?"

Her mother turned to her. "Why are you so jealous of that little girl? She's sweet. And no, I don't mind havin' her around at all. Besides, I think Chloe gets lonely, what with her dad gone and her mum always working. She needs to have someone around. And anyway, I could always use the extra money."

"I give you money."

"That's the sort of thing there could always be more of."

"There are a lot of things there could always be more of," Rose murmured. Then, in a broken voice she blurted, "Why don't you love me, Mum? I've never understood why you don't. Why am I never quite good enough? What is it? What's wrong with me? Just _tell_ me."

Jackie averted her eyes, then turned and went to the sink. "Don't be daft. There's…there's nothin' wrong with you."

"That's not true," Rose persisted, the polish slipping from her accent. "You've always thought there was somethin' wrong with me. Always. I could tell. The way I catch you lookin' at me when you think I don't see…" Rose shook her head, tears leaking from her eyes. "But I've always tried to be good enough for you. Oh, dear God, how I've tried. If you only knew. If you only knew the things I've done. The things I've done tryin' to make you love me!"

Rose paused, pulling in a shaky breath as she regarded her mother, who still wouldn't face her. This time when Rose spoke, her voice was quiet, but the tremor remained. "You're thinkin' about that now, aren't you? You're tryin' to imagine the things I've done. That's it, isn't it? You think I've done things that are… _indecent_. That's how you think I get my money, isn't it? You think I've…I've slept my way here. You think that's how I get the money to buy you things. Is that why you don't want me too close to you? You think I'm just some cheap–"

Whirling around, Jackie raised a swift hand and slapped Rose across the cheek.

Both fell silent.

Rose stared back at her mother, eyes wide. Her mum was known to wield a good slap now and then when need be, but Rose wasn't accustomed to being on the receiving end. She finally found her voice. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. I…I know you've never thought something like that about me."

"No," her mum was quick to affirm. "Never. Not about you. You wouldn't." Jackie glanced away. "You couldn't." She looked back to Rose, patting her on the arm. "'M sorry, too, sweetheart. I don't want to spend our visit like this. Let's both just forget all this talk, hm? Now, why don't you go have a lie-down for a bit? You're tired, that's all. Just tired. I'll wake you when supper's ready, 'kay?"

With a silent nod, Rose turned and left the kitchen.

-:-:-:-

Within her old room, rest came with a price. Rose tossed and turned, her mind overtaken by a recurring nightmare. Over the years she had learned that there was usually a trigger that brought it on – a vague, unpleasant memory or even just stress could often be the culprit. This visit had so far produced both. The unwelcome dream that resulted was always the same.

The thunder.

The knocking.

The footsteps.

Then her mum telling her to get out of bed. There had only been one shared bedroom in their old flat where she grew up, and Rose had hated the nights when her mum made her move to the couch, never understanding why. She never wanted to get up. She always felt alone and cold.

"No, Mum," Rose groaned out in her sleep. "No. Don't make me get up. Please. Please, Mum. No."

"Rose?"

A hand shook her shoulder. Rose's protests grew louder. "No. Mum, no!"

"Rose! Rose, wake up. You're dreaming. It's just a dream."

Her eyes flew open to see her mum standing over her, silhouetted in the light from the hallway. Rose blinked. She took a deep breath and dug her fingers into her forehead. "Ohhh… I was…I was having that dream again..."

Jackie straightened and took a step back. "Hush, now. That's enough."

But Rose was still caught up in the details, her mind replaying them like a film reel. "It-it's always storming. And then comes the knocking, and then–"

"I said that's _enough_ ," her mum interrupted. "It's just a daft old dream. Now then, you've had a long enough kip. Supper's ready. C'mon. Up you get."

Rose sat up, trying to shake off the sleep still clouding her mind, the dream still haunting her thoughts. Had she been fully awake, she never would have tried to relay the details of the dream. Rose had long since learned that her mum never wanted to hear it.

-:-:-:-

The remainder of their time together passed without incident, both mother and daughter carefully skirting uncomfortable topics, as was their custom. With the obligatory visit out of the way, it was time for Rose to resume her work. She had promised her mum that she was financially capable of seeing to Jackie's every need, and Rose was _not_ going to disappoint now.

As it happened, Rose had just seen a recent ad for an administrative support position within a London-based establishment. She knew little about the company or her next potential employer, but surely it couldn't be any worse than the previous. Equipped with a new identity, Rose applied, and within days she was contacted to come in to interview.

Her next target was now in her sights – a company by the name of TARDIS Corporation.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N** TARDIS Corporation interviews its next prospective employee.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Rose Tyler sat within the reception room of TARDIS Corporation, awaiting an interview for her next potential job. Or rather, her latest alias, Marion Stone, sat awaiting an interview. Risky as it may be to seek a London position near her true residence where people who knew her real identity might spot her, this position was too tempting to pass up. Despite talk of safety concerns a few years back, the company had maintained steady growth and success according to her brief research done in preparation for the interview, which meant it would have ample assets to spare. Plus, with the current job market openings weren't always easy to come by. So upon seeing the ad for administrative support, she had taken the chance of applying.

Rose just hoped she wasn't too far out of her depth in seeking a position here. TARDIS Corporation, which stood for the wordy and pretentious Technological Advancement Research & Development Institute of Science, was basically an organization for brainiacs – scientists and inventors all working to develop the Next Big Thing in any and every avenue of industry. The building itself was sleek and modern. Even the _loo_ was high-tech and fully automated. Still, she supposed even geeks needed secretaries.

It was the head secretary Rose sat across from now as she awaited her turn to interview in one of the inner offices. The older, attractive brunette kept casting Rose polite smiles as the current interviewee concluded her session with a Mr. Jackson Lake, Vice President of the company. The kind, almost apologetic looks the woman directed toward her told Rose her scant qualifications were likely to be insufficient for the position. Rose could fake an identity and even an education, on paper at least. But solid experience and legitimate references were another story.

Nevertheless, she wasn't one to give up without at least trying. If a _man_ was doing the hiring, so far she hadn't had trouble landing work. She knew how to smile just _so_. It turned her stomach, but that was the way of the world, as she had so far come to experience it.

Rose looked up as the double-glass doors to the reception room opened and a man entered, ambling casually toward the inner offices with an air of familiarity. He was tall, mid-thirties, dark tousled hair and sporting a trim brown suit. A suit and…Converse trainers. Geek Chic, Rose thought with a suppressed smirk. He was undoubtedly one of the resident nerds.

"Hello, Sarah Jane!" he greeted the secretary with a bright grin. "Is Jackson in his office?"

"Hello, Dr. Smith," she acknowledged with a note of fondness. "Yes, he's conducting an interview right now for the new office assistant."

Rose's ears perked up. If this was Dr. Jonathon Smith, she recognized the name as being the President of the Corporation and head of the Science Division, according to her brief perusal of the company's website. So he was the _head_ nerd.

There was something vaguely familiar about him, but that thought was pushed aside as the man's eyes tracked over to where Rose sat, and he stilled. She met his gaze, and was momentarily taken aback by the focus directed at her. His dark brown eyes seemed to be studying her with a look of…curiosity? No, more than that. Recognition? Just as Rose began to feel highly uncomfortable under the scrutiny, the tense moment was broken as the nearest office door opened. A middle-aged woman stepped out with Mr. Lake.

"Ah, Dr. Smith, perfect timing. You've a knack for that. I'd like you to meet Mrs. Rita Connolly. We've just finished our interview, and I think she's just what we're looking for." Mr. Lake turned back to the woman. "You will no doubt be hearing from us soon."

The woman smiled. "Thank you, Mister Lake. I look forward to it. Good day."

"Good day."

He looked to Dr. Smith, voice lowered but his pleased tone still able to be heard. "That went very well. I think we can consider the position filled."

Dr. Smith followed him into the office and shut the door. Rose slumped in her seat.

-:-:-:-

John folded himself down into the chair across from Jackson's desk, long legs casually crossed at the ankles. On the outside he was the picture of nonchalance. On the inside he was buzzing with curiosity. Just who _was_ that woman he'd seen waiting outside? Because if she was who he thought at first glance, this day had just become _very_ interesting. She closely resembled a woman who had recently piqued his interest. A woman who, as far as he knew, was being sought but had yet to be found. He had only seen her once from a distance, but for some reason it had made an impression. The hair was now a bit different – lighter and worn loose – but those _eyes_ … They seized his own the way an identical pair once had. If there was a chance the two women were one in the same, he had to find out.

He would have to go about this carefully, though. He couldn't just make that kind of assumption about someone without having proof. If he _did_ find proof, well…he'd cross that bridge if it came. Right now he just wanted to learn more, the reason for which he would have to keep to himself for the time being.

"I know I said I'd leave the hiring for this position up to you," John began. "You're the one who crunches the numbers and needs extra help in this division. But you don't want to be too hasty, eh? Hiring the right person for a job is an important process, no matter how big or small the position. I think all the applicants should be considered before a decision is made."

"I've already screened a few who just weren't right for the job. And there's only one other here to interview now whose qualifications are below the previous applicant's," Jackson explained. "We didn't exactly get applications in droves. This isn't the type of work environment for everyone."

John stiffened. "Meaning not everyone thinks it's safe?"

Jackson sighed. "That's not what I said. You've got to let the past go at some point, John."

John almost laughed at that, albeit void of humor. Jackson had no idea how much of a _past_ John was holding on to. Most days he himself wondered as to the full extent of it. But he simply shrugged at the statement. "You're the one who brought it up. Or alluded to it, if I'm not mistaken. Which, let's face it, I rarely am." He flashed a crooked grin, masking behind it his feelings on the subject. "But back to the point… As you said, this isn't the sort of company for everyone. Because of that, we should give proper consideration to anyone who might be interested. It's not always about qualifications alone. Finding the right fit for any job takes finding the right person."

Jackson smirked. "When you say, 'the right person,' you mean an attractive blonde?"

John shifted in his chair. "That's not what I meant."

"But you _did_ notice?"

Of course he had noticed the attractive qualities of the woman in the outer room. He wasn't blind, and he _was_ still a living, breathing male. But that wasn't what this was about. She interested him for a different reason, and he wouldn't be worth his weight in salt as a scientist if he ignored his innate curiosity. Call it an experiment, but he was anxious for the opportunity to find out more about this woman and see if his hunch was correct.

"I'm not interested in her for that reason," John insisted, which was true. He tended to keep a nice, tidy wall around his heart these days. After Joan, he now made it a practice to avoid _that_ sort of thing. "But humor me and do the interview?"

-:-:-:-

Disappointment swamped Rose. It seemed they'd found their candidate and she might not even get the chance to interview. She had already resigned herself to continuing her job search when the office door re-opened and Mr. Lake called to her.

"Miss Stone, would you step in, please?"

Rose was quick to comply, relieved she'd at least gotten this far. She entered the office and took the seat indicated to her across from Mr. Lake's desk. Her above-the-knee skirt rode up a bit as she sat. Rose tugged the clingy black fabric back down on instinct. The skirt was shorter than she liked, but in her experience those doing the hiring tended to appreciate that sort of thing.

Across the room, Dr. Smith stood in quiet observation, leaning against the side window. He gave a small smile when she looked his way. It was an enigmatic gesture, the left side of his mouth quirking slightly higher than the right. Like earlier, Rose tried to ignore the unsettled feeling caused by the man's intent gaze.

"Now then," Mr. Lake began. "I've glanced over your CV. Is this the extent of your experience?"

She cleared her throat. "I haven't had a lot of experience, I admit. I completed my A-Levels just over a year ago." She affected a somber tone. "And it was only a short time after when my husband, Jimmy, died unexpectedly. He left behind some debts, and I had to take the first opening I could find to pay the bills. That's when I took my previous job you see listed. But even though I was just a temp, it still gave me good business experience. It wasn't as challenging as I'd have liked, to be honest. And there wasn't much opportunity for promotion. Not that pay is the most important thing, mind you. I want to learn and be challenged. I'm not afraid of hard work or long hours. I'll prove that if given the chance."

Rose was fairly pleased with the believability of her backstory, considering not a word of it was true. She was asked a few more of the routine questions, replying back with the pat answers, and soon the interview was complete.

Mr. Lake glanced at Dr. Smith, who gave a single nod in return. Jackson shrugged, looking back to Rose. "Very well. Report to work first thing Monday morning and we'll give you a try. Sarah Jane Smith in the outer office will brief you on the specifics."

Rose stood, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "Thank you! Thank you so much."

He simply nodded as she left.

The door closed, and Jackson turned to Dr. Smith. "Really, John? You think it's wise to take her on without more experience or any real references to speak of?"

John pushed off from his position against the window. "Let's just say I'm conducting an experiment."

The other man shook his head. "I'm not following."

John clapped him on the shoulder. "Trust me, eh? I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?"

John gave a cheeky grin. "No _p_ e! But it's always more fun that way."

-:-:-:-

Rose was brimming with satisfaction, mixed with a fresh dose of cynicism, as she stepped from the inner office. Men. They were all alike and predictable. Who needed references or experience when you had an enticing figure? That was no doubt her winning qualification, since she already knew that the older woman who had interviewed before her was more skilled.

Rose had barely finished the thought when another young, attractive blonde entered the building, her long, shapely legs sashaying across the reception room as if she belonged. It seemed the men in this office had a type.

"Good afternoon, Sarah Jane," the young woman greeted, then cast a cursory glance at Rose down the end of her sculpted nose.

"Hello, Reinette."

"Is John about? I have my heart set on being accompanied to lunch."

"Yes, he's with Mister Lake. You may go in."

After the woman walked past, Sarah Jane murmured in a lowered voice. "You have your heart set on more than lunch." She glanced at Rose and cleared her throat. "Forgive me."

"Does she work here?" Rose questioned, getting the lay of the land.

Sarah Jane shook her head. "No. Hers is an…interesting affiliation. She's Dr. Smith's former sister-in-law. Her older sister, Joan, was Dr. Smith's former wife. They're half-sisters, actually. Joan's mother remarried a Frenchman by the name of Poisson, I believe it was."

"Former wife?"

Sarah Jane paused, considering her words before continuing. "I suppose you'll hear all this soon enough once you're exposed to the gossip mill. You may as well get the story straight. He and Joan divorced about two years ago. She once worked in the Medical Research Department, but she left him _and_ the Corporation at the same time. The details of their separation are not for me to speculate on, of course. And they've kept things civil, if distant. Last I heard she had returned to nursing, serving the medical field abroad. But back to Reinette… As Joan's younger half-sister, she came to live with them at Gallifrey Manor when she moved from Paris to London to pursue her Arts degree. And now, Dr. Smith being the amicable man that he is, has allowed Reinette to stay on even after the separation. But if you ask me, it's clear to see that young Reinette plans to make her stay…long-term."

Rose lifted a brow, feigning interest. It wasn't as if it was really her concern.

"I just hope he keeps his head about him and doesn't end up hurt again. I don't mind saying, I've become very fond of Dr. Smith in the time I've been here. He's a good man. You'll enjoy it here."

"That's…good to know," Rose replied, though she couldn't help but hope the woman's assessment of Dr. Smith's character was overstated. Not that she wanted to encounter another as vile as Saxon, but it was far easier to steal from a tosser. Either way, Rose would soon learn for herself.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N** Rose finds her new job to be relatively uncomplicated, her new employer less so.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

To her relief, Rose found she settled quickly into her new position, feeling competent in her duties by the end of the first week. It was rather simple, really. A little transcription work here and there, the standard number crunching, assist wherever needed, and bide her time. She did her work, seemed to mind her own business, and gave no one a reason to distrust her. She knew exactly how this game was played. She'd created the rules herself.

Meanwhile she had learned not only of the existence and location of the office's safe, but also who possessed copies of the key to the drawer where the combination was housed. Thankfully for her, the practice of businesses keeping cold hard cash at the ready wasn't unusual. She had found businesses often kept some of their assets on the premises, especially those that were of decent size yet independently run. She was learning to choose her targets well.

So far, assisting Jackson Lake when needed had not been objectionable. He seemed to be one of the rare examples of a happily married man, his personal attentions focused on his wife Caroline and son Frederick, of whom he boasted. Were there many who actually found that kind of happiness? Surely it was the exception.

As for Dr. John Smith, that one still had Rose perplexed. He didn't seem to be the lecherous type, thankfully. At least he'd not proven to be _yet_. It was still the first week, and she'd yet to encounter a man – a single one at that – who didn't have at least one lustful bone in his body. But was he an exception? She honestly wasn't sure what to make of him, because while he had not given her any inappropriate attention, she had not been lacking in his attention, either. He came across as friendly, to be sure. Always ready to offer a smile or a chipper greeting or engage in conversation. But there were times she caught him just watching her, as if studying her. Considering the circumstances, she wasn't at all comfortable with that.

Lately, though, it wasn't just a look of curiosity cast her way. When their eyes would meet in passing, there was something…more there. That type of look from a man tended to set off alarm bells. This time, however, the feeling was slightly different. _Stronger_. She would feel her pulse start to race and her palms start to sweat. He unnerved her, plain and simple. Yet at the same time he hadn't really _done_ anything. And that unnerved her, too.

Men were usually easy for her to read. They tended to make clear what they wanted and go after it. She could have brought a host of sexual harassment charges against past employers had she not been trying to stay in their good graces and employment. It was usually a balancing act of smiling pleasantly while keeping her skirts down. Dr. Smith, however, had given no indication of being that sort of man. So why did he sometimes make her feel so flustered? The man _and_ her intense reaction to him was a mystery she'd yet to solve.

Absorbed in such thoughts as she worked, Rose didn't notice that the red ink cartridge she was replacing in the printer was leaking until it was too late. Crimson liquid splattered onto the sleeve of her crisp white blouse. She watched, horrified, as dark red seeped into the fabric. Rose felt her chest tighten as her vision narrowed to that one blood-red blotch.

She couldn't breathe.

She had to get it off.

She had to get it _off!_

Panicked, Rose ran from her workstation and sprinted toward the bathroom, nearly colliding with Dr. Smith on the way.

"Whoa, there! Miss Stone, are you all right? Marion?" he called after her, but she didn't stop.

She darted into the ladies' room, chest heaving and face leached of color.

"Sarah!" he called over to the head secretary, who was already on her feet in concern. "Go check on her, please. Make sure she's okay."

"Of course," said Sarah Jane, swiftly following after the distressed young woman.

She found Rose at the sink, blouse already peeled off and sleeve thrust beneath the running faucet as she scrubbed vigorously at the vile stain.

"Marion, are you all right? Are you hurt?"

Rose didn't have the presence of mind to answer to her alias right away. It wasn't until Sarah Jane put a hand on her shoulder that Rose began to pull herself together.

"I'm…I'm fine," she answered, though her voice was shaking.

"We thought you were hurt, the way you rushed out. You had Dr. Smith terribly worried. He sent me to check on you."

"No, I'm not hurt," Rose insisted. "I just…just spilled some ink. 'S nothing. Nothing at all. I just…had to get this out before the stain set in."

Saran Jane eyed her pensively, Rose still fervently scouring the blotch. "If you say so."

Rose watched as the red stain faded, as pink-tinged water swirled down the drain. She took a breath, then another, finally able to breathe without feeling like her heart was being squeezed out of her chest. She didn't tell Sarah Jane the reason for her response because, yet again, she couldn't explain it herself. She never could.

-:-:-:-

Marion Stone was now entering her second week of employment with TARDIS Corporation. So far, other than her rather extreme reaction to a little ink spill, the time had passed uneventfully. John's plan remained straightforward for now. He would keep a watchful eye on her, see if she appeared genuine in word and in action, and take note of anything that might alert his suspicions. For the time being he had no justifiable cause to take measures beyond that. And he hoped he wouldn't.

What he _hoped_ to do was find out more about her and feel satisfied that his initial suspicions were unfounded. Unfortunately that was proving difficult. She didn't exactly avoid him, but she didn't get too close either, and she was far from being an open book. Not that he could fault a person for that. He could often be accused of the same when it came right down to it. But any efforts on his part to draw her out had so far been unsuccessful. She was professional to a fault and didn't really engage in idle chitchat around the office, so he hadn't learned much of anything about her life outside of work. When he asked in passing if she had any family in the area, she very quickly answered no, stating her father died when she was young and that her mother passed away a few years back. It had been clear she didn't want to discuss it further.

If he wasn't mistaken, she seemed to have her guard up. That didn't necessarily mean she was hiding something, but it _could_ mean she didn't trust him. And why should she? She barely knew him. And what she _did_ know might not be particularly reassuring. If he wanted to learn more about her, maybe that had to go both ways. As it happened, he had an idea for how to go about that. She was willing to put in overtime and he was in need of extra assistance this weekend. Maybe a little one-on-one time would prove enlightening.

-:-:-:-

Two weeks in, and Rose continued playing her part while laying her plans for how to best proceed with her objective. All she needed was the right opportunity to get her hands on one of the copies of the key to the drawer containing the safe's combination. The safe itself was in Mr. Lake's office, and unlike Saxon's, the ones here weren't individually locked after hours. In this case, tighter security measures were reserved for the research labs.

It should be fairly simple, compared to other jobs she'd undertaken. She just had to remain detached and keep her mind on the game. Which meant keeping her conscience out of the equation. That hadn't really been a problem before. The men she had duped in the past had been more than deserving, she had tried to tell herself. But did the same apply to Dr. Smith? Rose tried not to think too deeply about that. This was her way of life. In her experience, nothing in life was given. Only taken.

In the meantime, her willingness to work overtime was put to use. Dr. Smith had taken Rose up on that offer, asking if she would be willing to come in for a few hours on Saturday afternoon to assist him. In her short time there, she had come to learn that Dr. Smith tended to work odd hours, absorbed with projects in his personal lab. So hearing he put in time on weekends wasn't a surprise. The fact that he'd requested her assistance _was_ a surprise, though. She wasn't trained as a lab assistant. So why had he requested her?

The thought of working _alone_ with him was admittedly disconcerting. Despite a few intense looks and that unsettled feeling he gave her, John Smith had so far been a consummate professional during her time with him, never making any inappropriate advances. Even still, something about him continued to unnerve her. But Rose knew she had to get past that. She was working toward gaining everyone's full trust, and she needed to keep up the role of eager employee. Whatever he needed her assistance for, she would be expected to comply.

Resigning herself to that fact, Rose arrived at TARDIS Corporation that Saturday afternoon, feeling a growing sense of anxiety as storm clouds gathered overhead. She _hated_ storms. Rose dashed into the building, her steps slowing once inside. She entered the lift, taking a deep breath as the doors slid closed. Rose gave the voice command for the upper floor where the labs were housed.

She exited the lift a moment later, noting the eerie silence of the empty complex, which was usually a hub of various activity. At the end of the long corridor ahead, a door was ajar, florescent light filtering out into the stark hallway. Rose swallowed. She hoped agreeing to this wasn't a mistake. A rumble of thunder reverberated outside. Suddenly, her uncertainty over the man down the hall was trumped by her fear of the storm. Her breath quickened along with her pace as she reached the designated room and stepped in.

Having spent most of her time in clerical work, Rose had yet to see the actual labs where research and development was carried out. As she entered, Rose glanced about with immediate interest.

The moderately sized room was predictably stark and clinical. The various workspaces held an assortment of beakers containing colorful liquids, as well as microscopes of different size and type. But in addition to this was peculiar technology and equipment she could only guess as to their functions – from a whirling little dish-like apparatus that occasionally "dinged" on one side of the room, to a rather charming, if retro-looking, tin dog on the other.

Her eyes then found and settled on Dr. Smith across the room, his back to her as he stood hunched over a stainless steel table strewn with mechanical bits and bobs, engrossed in whatever work he was conducting. She cleared her throat.

"Oh! Hello there!" he greeted, turning to face her. "Thank you for agreeing to come in today. And prompt, no less. I'm impressed. Which, to be honest, takes some doing. One-thirty on the dot." He paused, head cocked to the side. "Well…thirty-seven seconds _past_ , but still impressively close."

She boggled at him, than glanced around for a clock she wasn't seeing. "You're not even wearing a watch. How do you just _know_ that?" It sort of gave her the creeps. It sort of fascinated her, too.

He tapped the side of his head with a slender finger. "The only watch I've ever needed is right here. Always has been. Now then! Please, have a seat." He gestured to a stool beside his worktable.

Rose sat, still eyeing him, her gaze curious. He looked every bit the mad professor, hair even more awry than usual, glasses balanced on the end of his nose, and atop them a magnifying eyepiece jutting out from the right lens. She was beginning to realize how different he was from anyone she'd met.

Seeming to notice her appraisal, he glanced down at himself in bemusement. "What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. 'S just…I suppose I thought you'd be the proper scientist, all clinical and wearing a white lab coat or something."

He wrinkled his nose. "Nah. Too pretentious. As long as I've got my maximum-depth pockets, no lab coat required." He patted his pinstriped jacket with pride.

She tilted her head, still studying his appearance. "Do you always…wear the same thing? I don't think I've ever seen you in anything other than brown suits."

"I wear blue on occasion," he defended.

Her lips twitched into a smile. "Such variety."

He shrugged. "Variety is highly overrated. And I happen to like this look. Don't you?"

Rose eyed him up and down. Yes, actually. She did. The suit fit him like a glove and just seemed appropriately…him. She cleared her throat, trying to steer the conversation back to relevancy. Being alone with a man who was asking if she liked his looks was not conducive to professional purposes, nor was it within her comfort zone. "Back to the point, what exactly do you need me here for?"

"Ah! Yes. I've seen your transcription work. Impeccable. And you're quite efficient. I need someone to take down the trial algorithms I input as I relay them so that I don't have to pause in my work and increase the possibility for error. A _small_ possibility, but still… Usually a lab assistant does that, but no one's working this weekend, and I want to keep going with this now that I'm close to finishing it."

Another rumble of thunder sounded outside, louder this time. Rose flinched and forced her attention to the pile of mechanical components on the table, hoping to divert her thoughts from the swelling storm. Among the items, she noted a long, slender, wand-type device, silver with a blue tip. It had been the focus of Dr. Smith's attention when she came in. "What is it you're working on?"

He picked up the device in question, beaming with delight. "I'm constructing the prototype for a scanning tool that operates on the principle of sonic waves."

Rose eyed the tool with growing curiosity. "What can it do?"

The pride in his tone was evident. "What _can't_ it do. For one thing, it could be quite useful in the medical field, with the potential to replace costly and rudimentary instruments that rely on magnetic resonance or x-ray. But that's just for starters. It has the potential to do so much more. The possibilities are endless, really." He frowned. "Except when it comes to wood. I'm still working on that setting."

She shook her head, mystified. "Sounds…impressive. How d'you even think up such things?" Rose asked, having never known anyone with such a creative mind.

He shrugged a shoulder. "Ideas just seem to come to me. Sometimes even in dreams, as in this case. This particular device has been in the planning stages here," he tapped his head again, "for quite some time. When I first told Joan about it, she…" He swallowed back the rest of that sentence, awkward silence dominating at the mention of his ex-wife.

"She worked here for a time, I've heard," Rose said, trying to keep things conversational.

He nodded, pulling off his glasses. "That's how we first met. She was hired on to work in the Medical Research Department. Her intellect and background in medicine made her an ideal candidate. But all of this just…wasn't for her."

"I'm…sorry," Rose offered, feeling a bit awkward and not knowing what else to say.

"You should know," he went on, face and tone growing somber, as if divulging some transgression, "that there was an accident here a while back. If you haven't already, I'm sure you'll eventually hear whispered talk of it, and I want to be forthcoming. A project went wrong and there was an explosion, contained within a single lab but still very serious."

She had heard mention of this but didn't know the specifics. "What happened?"

He puffed out a long breath as he drew up a stool beside her and took a seat. "We were working to develop a type of healing nanoparticle. Nanogenes, if you will. But of course, dealing with the subatomic level often requires utilizing high-energy particle accelerators, which carry a certain degree of risk…especially the type _we_ were dealing with. Careful precautions were taken, but one on the team misused the accelerator. Three were injured and the one in question died. There was, of course, an extensive investigation. But the Corporation was cleared of negligent wrongdoing, all reasonable safety precautions having been in place. The one in error was not following the precautions laid out. But…Joan blamed me."

Rose felt her brows draw together. "Why you?"

"I okayed the project. And those involved were not just colleagues but friends of hers. She had raised concerns in the past that maybe some of the experiments were too dangerous. After the accident, she said that if I hadn't chosen the project 'on a whim,' that no one would have died."

"That's…harsh."

His gaze dropped to his folded hands. "But also true."

"It wasn't your fault," she reasoned, seeing it as simple as that. "You wouldn't have put those safety measures in place if you were being careless. You can hardly be blamed for someone else's mistake."

He looked up and stared at her, as if he wasn't sure what to make of being given absolution so freely.

He ran a hand up the back of his head. "At any rate, what's done is done. Now Joan is back working in the medical field again. And she's happy with her life. In the end, I suppose that's what matters." He cleared his throat. "So…now that everything is out in the open, I hope you'll still want to stay. I just wanted to assure you that nothing I'm working on here today is dangerous. And…I want you to be able to trust me."

"I trust you," she said.

His eyes focused on hers with newfound intensity. "Do you?"

The earnestness in his voice made her pause. "Um…yeah. 'Course. You haven't given me a reason not to." Why did she suddenly feel like such a hypocrite? She knew why.

He continued to hold her gaze. "Good. That's good. Trust is very, very important."

Rose fidgeted. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N** John & Rose continue their one-on-one time, with an outcome neither expected. Thanks so much to those reading and reviewing this foray into AU, making it all the more enjoyable!

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

"I trust you," she had answered in response to John's pointed statement.

His eyes focused on her own, attempting to decipher the sincerity of her words. "Do you?"

She paused this time before answering. "Um…yeah. 'Course. You haven't given me a reason not to."

His gaze upon her remained steady. "Good. That's good. Trust is very, very important."

She grew fidgety then, her eyes shifting from his as restless fingers fiddled with her hoop earring. "So…um...algorithms?"

John nodded in response. She either didn't want to discuss that topic further, or she simply wanted to get down to work. In any case, he wasn't going to persist with that particular conversation. For now he'd said enough. He had actually said more than he had planned to on his end. He didn't usually open up to people like that when it came to personal matters concerning himself. Maybe in time she would do the same.

He still wasn't quite sure what to make of this woman. His suspicions lingered regarding the whole Saxon incident. He was pretty good at reading people, and she definitely seemed to be holding something back. That was a trait he was very good at recognizing. As each day passed, however, he hoped more and more that he was wrong. Beneath her guarded smiles and darting glances, he saw a woman who radiated a certain something that drew him, perhaps against his better judgment. He had initially set out to discover just one thing about her. Now he found himself wanting to know…well… _everything_.

He wanted to get to know the woman behind the professional façade. What were her likes? Her passions? Her concerns? What delighted or angered her? What were her quirks? Her habits? Her hopes and dreams? In short, who was she as a person? If what little she'd divulged of herself was on the up and up, did she harbor deep scars from being widowed so young? Or was there something else to the sense of isolation he sometimes picked up on from her? Maybe that was what drew him. He could relate. He was surrounded by colleagues and friends and his own unconventional version of family, yet he often felt a vague sense of loneliness, and it preceded losing Joan. Something was missing in his life. Always had been. Did she feel something similar?

Initially, he had been intrigued to learn more about a possible woman who had dared cross Harold Saxon, so shrewd and fearless, he'd assumed. Could that have been her? If so, she didn't fit what he would have imagined. She was far more complicated. He sensed a certain vulnerability to her in contrast to an inner strength, and that was fascinating to him. How many facets comprised this woman? He had just learned of one in particular. She was forgiving.

He had confessed about the accident and felt guilt rise like bile in his throat at the recollection. Yet she hadn't condemned him, as he so often did himself. She had declared him innocent without giving it a second thought. He truly wasn't expecting that. She continued to take him by surprise. There was no doubt he wanted to get to know her better, for reasons that were starting to reach beyond simple curiosity, if he were honest.

But for now they were here to work, and it was clear she wanted to get on with it.

"Right! So, algorithms," he began, and thus started rambling on the technical aspects of his project.

A moment later, a bright flash of lightning lit the entire room, followed by an enormous boom of thunder as the storm that had been building intensified. She gasped, jumping up from where she sat.

"Ooh, that was quite the atmospheric grumble. It sounds like we're in for an impressive squall," John remarked, glancing toward the windows along the back of the lab, the view of the London skyline now darkened by thick storm clouds. He looked back to her. "Not much for storms, eh?"

She shook her head vehemently. "N-no, they–"

Before she could finish, another clap of thunder sounded, even louder than the previous, which sent her hurtling far away from the windows, her body pressing against the far corner in apparent terror. John was taken aback by the fierceness of her reaction, but he tried not to let it show in order to calm her.

He approached her cautiously. Her eyes, though wide with fright, seemed distant and unfocused. "Marion? Are you all right? It's just a bit of thunder. Nothing to be afraid of, I promise." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Here, why don't you sit back down?"

She was rigid, unmoving, as if she didn't even hear him.

"This building is grounded," he assured her, falling into techno-babble mode because he was at a loss as to what else to do. "There's a safe diversion path for all of that nasty electrostatic discharge, using only the best copper-plated ground rods with exothermic bonds and low connection impedance. In other words, you're perfectly safe. It's all right."

His assurance was ineffective. Another flash of lightning had her shrieking in fear, her eyes clamping shut. "No! _P-please!_ "

His low voice crooned soothingly. "It's okay." His hand on her shoulder slid to her back, drawing soothing circles. Not knowing what else to do but feeling the rising urge to protect her, if only from her fears, he finally pulled her stiff body into his arms.

The thunder grew louder and the lightning flashed relentlessly. "M-make it stop!" she pleaded into his chest, sounding like a frightened child. "Please, make it stop!"

John held her in his arms, this woman so poised one minute and trembling in fear the next. He never would have expected such a reaction from her. What was it about a common storm that frightened her so? It was almost as if it evoked some sort of distressing memory.

"Shhh," he soothed. Thankfully, the storm began to die down as quickly as it had begun, the thunder dimming to a distant echo. "It's all right. It's all right. I've got you. You're safe. The worst of it is over." She was still trembling in his arms, struggling to catch her breath. He held her tighter, willing her to _feel_ that she was safe. If words didn't register, maybe actions eventually would, and he continued to hold her in a protective, comforting embrace.

The sweet scent of her permeated his lungs, and he found himself being drawn closer still. He didn't give a thought to the propriety of the situation. He was acting on instinct. The same instinct had his lips pressing lightly to the golden crown of her head, the comforting gesture not typical of him to a relative stranger, yet somehow coming as second nature with her. "You're safe," he repeated, his lips now lowering to brush over her warm temple.

He suddenly wished he could whisper into her very mind and impart assurance.

"I've got you," he continued. "Trust me."

Somewhere between the urge to comfort and assure her, another urge arose, equally strong and instinctual. Perhaps it had been there from the start, building over these past couple of weeks. Maybe it was her lack of judgment and her understanding toward him that finally lit the spark. Whatever the reason, he was beyond reasoning it out. His lips caressed her temple, once, twice, then grazed lower, skimming the soft swell of her cheek, tasting her tears and sweeping them away, until at last his lips found hers. His mouth parted and hovered, breathing her in, then closed over hers ever so gently.

He was lost for a moment, his entire reality centered on this one moment, this one woman in his arms.

She went completely still then, no longer trembling or struggling for breath. It was as if she turned to stone. Reality came crashing back and he realized his actions. She hadn't resisted but she hadn't reciprocated. _What_ had gotten into him? He didn't do this sort of thing. He didn't come on to a woman like some sort of…of primitive ape. And certainly not someone in a vulnerable position. But it seemed the urge to protect her had sparked…other urges.

John abruptly pulled back and released her, drawing a shaky breath.

She looked up at him, as if just coming back to herself and realizing he was there.

"It's over. All over," he assured her, voice rough. He cleared his throat. "Are you…okay?"

She nodded, taking both a breath and a step back. "Yes, I…I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

He swallowed. That made two of them. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all. But I do, I'm afraid. If…if I made you uncomfortable, or…"

She still looked a little disoriented. "Um…what?"

He rubbed the base of his neck. "I truly hope I didn't. I hadn't meant to…do that. I apologize. I had no intention of overstepping boundaries. None whatsoever."

She wrapped her arms around herself. "You…held me."

"Well…yes. I wanted you to…feel safe."

She nodded, looking down.

He breathed out. At least she hadn't slapped him. He hoped they could put this behind them. Or…move forward with it. _Blimey!_ What was wrong with him? "You're sure everything is…okay?"

She bit her lip. "'M fine."

"Good. Yes, good." He cleared his throat. "But…tell me, why do storms frighten you so?"

Her expression clouded. "They just do. Always have."

He tilted his head, considering her. "To be honest, I wouldn't have thought you to be a woman who was scared by much of anything."

She swallowed noticeably and took another step back from him. "We all have our fears."

His eyes dipped. "I suppose we do."

John looked about the room, reconsidering his plans for the day. She no longer seemed to be in the frame of mind for work. Quite frankly, neither was he. "Why don't we just call it a day? There's nothing here that can't wait, and they're predicting the storms to return this evening. I'd hate to send you out in that. How about if I drive you home?"

Her eyes shot up. "I…well, I…"

"It's the least I can do after getting you down here on a Saturday. Prove I'm still a gentleman," he added with an unsteady chuckle.

Still she hesitated, seeming torn between facing his company or facing more storms. "All right. Thank you," she finally conceded.

He smiled tentatively, indicating the door with an outstretched arm. "After you."

She walked past, her scent wafting over him once more. His stomach balled into a knot. Something was battling to give way inside him, and he didn't know if this was a battle he could win. Reason told him this was not a woman to become entangled with. Certainly not until he knew more. But then, he never did listen to reason.

-:-:-:-

Allowing herself to be driven to her alias' temporary rental flat, Rose climbed into Dr. Smith's bright blue Jaguar, absently noting the sports car's interior was much roomier than it appeared on the outside. It was a risk letting him know where she was staying, but when he offered to drive her she'd felt stuck, and she hadn't been in the frame of mind to come up with a suitable excuse to get out of it. No matter. By the time her work was complete and she had to worry about anyone tracking her down, she would be long gone from Marion Stone's short-term residence.

Uneasiness settled, thick and heavy, as the drive began in silence. She was embarrassed and frankly unsettled by her earlier outburst. That type of thing was always disconcerting to her, but especially when having someone else witness it. She tried not to dwell on the incident, but bits and pieces kept filtering into her thoughts. She could still hear the thunder boom in her ears, see the lightning flash behind her eyes, the distressing sights and sounds harsh and relentless. It was like being stuck within that frightful recurring dream she'd had since childhood. The one that always began with the rumbling thunder, and then–

Rose took a deep, calming breath, and was instantly awash in the lingering scent of spicy sandalwood and fresh tea – _John's_ scent, she realized. His own scent now enveloped her. _He_ had enveloped her. John had come close as he tried to calm her, that much she remembered. And then he…

She closed her eyes, taking another breath. The memory was hazy, clouded by the fear of the storm that had overtaken her. But she knew that he had held her far closer than she would have allowed of anyone had she not been in such an addled state of mind. Maybe he _was_ like other men after all, only interested in one thing. And yet, he hadn't tried to force anything and had even apologized after. That was a first. Rose realized the incident hadn't necessarily left her feeling violated or preyed upon. She never would have gotten in the car with him if she did. He said he had wanted her to feel…safe. Maybe he _had_ only been trying to calm and comfort her, in his own way. Ironic, that. He obviously didn't know her.

Regardless, it couldn't happen again. She _had_ to keep a grip on herself. Succumbing to her fears and allowing herself to become vulnerable was dangerous on many levels.

Rose sat forward and fiddled with the radio as they drove, anxious for something to fill the tense space. She tuned to the day's track scores, her attention focusing.

"You like the races?" he asked, taking note of her interest.

"I like the horses," she replied, at ease with this one topic, at least. "I _love_ horses. Have since I was little. That's the only reason I follow the races."

"Have you ever been?"

She nodded. "When I get the chance."

"Was…that something you and your husband did together?" he queried.

She paused, the question at first seeming foreign to her. Oh yes. Her 'husband.' "Umm, yeah. Sometimes."

"Do you still go?"

"Yeah, when I can," she answered truthfully. She wondered why he was so interested to learn of a simple thing she took pleasure in, but she realized he didn't really know much of anything about her, so this was a first. And she supposed a little honesty now and then wouldn't hurt her.

There was a pause before he spoke again, clearing his throat. "I believe the Southwell Racecourse is having a featured race day next weekend. We could…that is…I could take you. If you'd like." Though he said this with a shrug, he sounded nervous; uncertain. As if he himself wasn't quite sure if this was a good idea.

She didn't answer right away, unsure of what she should say.

"You are in no way obligated to accept, of course," he hastened to add, flicking his anxious brown eyes over to her. "Technically you work in Jackson's department and under his supervision. But still... If you have any objections due to our working relationship, I understand."

'I…" Rose had an automatic decline on the tip of her tongue, yet that wasn't what came out. "All right."

A smile lit his face, crinkling his eyes around the corners, but she wasn't able to return the gesture. Instead, Rose immediately found herself wondering why she had accepted. Had she just agreed to go on a _date_ with him? That was unwise for so many reasons.

In the past, if this sort of thing arose she always managed to find a tactful way out. Yet here she had just accepted without even _trying_ to get out of it. Working together was one thing. Spending personal time together was quite another. She reasoned, however, that she needed to stay in his good graces, despite what he'd said about no obligations. Rose told herself that was the only reason she had just agreed to spend an entire day together with this man. Surely. A man who, quite honestly, off-balanced her to no end.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N** For those familiar with the film, Dr. Smith's backstory differs somewhat from the original in order to fit John's character development within this story.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

John had dressed in his trim-cut blue suit, proving he _was_ capable of variety on occasion, completing the look with a crisp white Oxford, deep maroon tie and matching trainers. He worked the four-in-hand knot of his necktie with surprisingly uncoordinated fingers as he stood in front of his bedroom mirror, adjusting it to achieve just the right amount of slack.

He gazed back at himself and wondered, not for the first time as of late, what exactly he was doing. He was… Well, he was going on a date. _Him_.

He had sworn after the failed relationship with Joan that he was done with that sort of thing. He continued to hold to that decision when it came to Reinette, despite her (admittedly, sometimes tempting) attempts at persuasion. No more domestic entanglements and the complicated emotions that came with them. Perhaps that was a bit extreme and unrealistic, but still. Point being, he hadn't set out to become interested in another woman.

He wasn't just interested, though. The woman in question intrigued him in a way he couldn't really explain. He wanted, at the very least, to get to know her better. He still sensed she was hiding something, but he also sensed that she was not, deep down, a malicious person. A troubled person, perhaps. But not malicious. Whatever the case, there was more to her story, and it was a story he hoped to learn.

Along the way, he also hoped to gain her trust. Something told him it was worth the time and effort to try to build that. _She_ was worth the time and effort. He knew relatively little about her, but he already knew that much. Hopefully today's outing could be the start of that.

Innocent as today's plans were, this _could_ be seen as inappropriate, he realized, fraternizing with an employee, even if she didn't work directly under him. But he certainly wasn't going to manipulate or try to take advantage of the situation, nor did he get the sense that she was the type to try to sleep her way up the ladder, so to speak. He just wanted a chance to spend some time with her, to get know her better, and to give her the same opportunity in regards to him. Whatever came of that, if anything, was a bridge he'd cross when the time came.

Giving himself one last look in the mirror and a final calculated ruffle to his hair, John left to pick up his date.

-:-:-:-

Rose fastened the ankle strap of her cream wedges and stood, casting an appraising glance down her form. She wore a classic knee-length dress that cinched at the waist and flared at the knee, the feminine floral design a soft powder blue, with a knit cardigan of the same shade to lend style as well as comfort in the cool spring weather.

Smoothing her hands down the soft cotton skirt, Rose absently wondered if Dr. Smith would find her ensemble appealing. She quickly cast aside the thought, telling herself she shouldn't even be concerned with that sort of thing. This was _not_ a genuine date or the start of any kind of…of relationship. As if she would even consider such a thing, and under such circumstances. No, she was simply going along to get along, she reminded herself.

Rose bit down on her glossy red lip as a thought occurred to her. Would John try to…get close to her again today, like he had that day in the lab? He shouldn't feel the need to comfort her this time, but he just might feel certain _other_ needs. Her stomach did a somersault, a shot of ingrained fear and…something else surging through her. Something that caused an unfamiliar coiling sensation deep inside her, tight and hot.

She didn't have time to dwell on this. The next moment the doorbell sounded. She grabbed her coordinating leather clutch and made her way to the door of the rental flat. Exhaling deeply, Rose opened the door.

There stood Dr. Smith, sporting a sleek blue suit, his hair in artful disarray, and a disarming smile curving his lips. Rose felt that unfamiliar sensation grip her again.

She tamped down the feeling and forced an easy smile. "Right on time."

He winked in response. "Always."

-:-:-:-

The day of the race had dawned bright and clear, the early May weather mild and breezy as the two took their seats in the crowded grandstand overlooking the track.

The bugle sounded the Call to Post and the competitors took their places. A pleasant thrill shot through Rose as the opening bell sounded, the start gates flung wide, and the dark brown turf began to fly.

As nervous as she had initially been, Rose soon found herself genuinely enjoying the outing, fully absorbed in watching the beautiful creatures run with fluid speed and agility. John turned to her after the first race finished, her predicted winner proving successful.

"You certainly called that one right. Seeing as you're the expert, who's your pick for the next race?"

She didn't have to give it much thought, familiar as she was with the day's competitors. "Casanova. He's finished in the top three his past few races, and he's got a good jockey today."

"Casanova it is, then. Sure you don't want to place a bet yourself? Just for fun?"

She shook her head. "Never do. I just like to watch."

He smiled. "Whatever makes you happy, then. Just keep watching, I'll be right back."

She nodded as he stood.

A few minutes later, Rose's attention was drawn by the voice of a man approaching from beside her.

"Hello, there."

Rose turned her head, her pulse quickening as her eyes landed on the young man addressing her. "Umm…yes?"

He helped himself to the vacated seat next to her. "Well, long time no see. Remember me? Adam. Adam Mitchell. We both once worked for Henry Van–"

"I'm sorry, what?" she interrupted, feigning ignorance.

A subtle, menacing smirk formed. "Surely you remember…"

Rose shook her head, her hands squeezing into fists in her lap. "No. Sorry. 'Fraid I don't. You have me mistaken for someone else."

He narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. "Really? Nah, I don't think so. I never forget a pretty face. The hair's a bit different, but–"

"I said you're _mistaken_."

He paused, voice lowering in pitch. "Oh? But I _know_ you must remember Mr. Van Statten. I can promise he remembers _you_. In fact, I bet he'd just love to see you again."

Rose could feel her palms begin to sweat. The Van Statten affair had been the first job she'd pulled. It wasn't the type of past she wanted to have catch up to her. Certainly not right here, right now. She would just have to stick to denial. It wasn't as if there had been solid proof. "Look, I don't know what you're talkin' about, but you've obviously made a mistake. Now will you please leave me alone?"

He moved closer, grinning darkly as he invaded her personal space. "Oh, come off it, love. You're just pulling my leg, eh?"

"I highly doubt any woman would want to pull any part of you," came the voice of John from behind them.

Adam turned and quickly stood, the two men facing each other. John's tall frame stood close and imposing. The other man took a step back.

John's voice was low and unnervingly calm. "Is there a reason you're troubling this woman?"

Adam shrugged and attempted a blithe smile. "No trouble here, mate. I just…thought I recognized the lady there."

John looked to her. "Did he recognize you?"

Rose quickly shook her head. "No."

John turned sharp eyes back on the man. "Well, it seems that's settled. You best apologize for your mistake. _Now_ would be advisable."

"Sorry," he muttered, albeit reluctantly.

John cupped a hand to his ear. "Hmm? What was that?"

 _"Sorry,"_ Adam bit out, louder.

John flashed a patronizing grin. "Well done! That's a good chap. Now off you go. I'm sure your mum is worried sick by now."

Scowling, the young man turned and trudged away.

Rose released the breath she'd been holding. John seemed to be making it his duty to come to her rescue. She couldn't find a reason to complain about that at the moment.

John slid back into his seat beside Rose, his questioning gaze meeting hers. "Old boyfriend?"

" _No_. Like I said I…I don't even know him. Um…look," she said, purposely changing the subject, "how 'bout if we go down to the paddock? I'd like to get a look at Telepathy. I've been watching him train for a few years now. I think he has a good chance today."

John nodded and stood, offering his arm as she rose. "My next winner, eh? Good name, that. You could say I have an interest in Telepathy myself." She looked at him askance as she took his arm. "The phenomenon, that is."

"You believe in that sort of thing?"

"I have a very open mind." He flashed a crooked grin. "No pun intended."

Rose walked with him down to the paddock, trying to forget the unpleasant encounter of earlier. She scanned the various horses out for a warm-up, soon catching sight of the one she was interested in.

"Number ten, there he is," Rose said with a grin. But her smile quickly faded as the jockey approached and mounted the horse. Her eyes fixed to the man's crimson shirt, her stomach turning over.

"So that's him, eh? Like I said, good name. Although…I always fancied Arthur as a fitting name for a horse…" John trailed off then, taking note of her reaction as she spun around, squeezing her eyes shut as if to blot out what she had seen. "What is it? Are you–"

"Don't bet on him."

"What?"

"H-he's not looking well today, that's all."

"What do you mean?"

"He just...doesn't. Umm, we should head back to the stands now. The next race will be starting soon."

John glanced back at the horse and frowned, but said nothing more. "Yes, of course."

-:-:-:-

They shared lunch together that afternoon at the upper-level restaurant overlooking the track, the glassed-in dining area offering a prime view of the action below. John gladly noted that his companion seemed to have recovered from whatever had spooked her earlier down by the paddock. He would have given anything to know what it was. He would still like to know a _lot_ of things about her, actually. If only he had heard more of her exchange with that annoying young man. It could have been entirely unimportant…or highly enlightening. In any case, learning more was part of his reason for asking her out.

As such, John steered the lunch conversation toward learning more about her nature and background. He hoped his questions would not come off as too probing. She didn't seem to be much for talking about herself, and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. But he had to learn more about her at some point if this (whatever _this_ was) could ever lead anywhere.

"So, you love the races and have a keen eye for winners, but you never try your luck by placing a bet?" John asked, curious, licking the sweet remnants of banana pudding from his spoon.

She shrugged. "Don't want to risk losing the money. I work too hard to get it." She spoke the last into her mug of tea. "Besides, I don't believe in luck."

He scrutinized her a moment, pushing his lunch dishes aside to rest his elbows on the table and lean forward. "What _do_ you believe in?"

She glanced off toward the windows. "Nothing." She drew a breath. "Well, horses, I suppose. Animals in general, really. They don't judge you or make demands, aren't offensive or disagreeable, and they just…accept you as you are." He waited, listening patiently as she went on. "Which is to say, nothing at all like people."

He leaned back. "And don't forget, they lack cynicism."

She turned her eyes back and regarded him steadily. "True. But sometimes in people it becomes necessary."

"Has that been your experience?"

There was a pause. "Too often, yeah."

He decided to go out on a limb, putting forth a bit of speculation. "I'm sensing a classic case of a tough childhood."

He tried to keep his tone light, yet the intense focus of his eyes on hers likely told her he wasn't joking. He was far from having her figured out, but he of all people could spot a troubled past when he saw one.

"So, _Dr_. Smith, fancy yourself a psychologist?" she challenged back.

He shrugged. "Not particularly. I just tend to have good intuition."

He sensed a defensive wall go up as she spoke. "Sorry to disappoint, but mine's the typical story. Run-of-the-mill family, money was tight but we made do."

"I'm sure you did." There was a moment of tense silence, and he had the distinct feeling she was fighting the urge to bolt. "Yes, I imagine you've had a rough journey. But you're clever and resourceful. The polished manners, the careful grammar, the accent that only occasionally slips..."

"And what about you?" she diverted, sitting up a little straighter. "Tell me about _your_ traumatic childhood."

His breath stalled in his throat at the unwitting statement that struck like a dart on a bullseye. Maybe he _should_ tell her and just get it over with…as much as he could recall, at least. Perhaps it was for the best that he had been too young to remember the specifics. That didn't stop the occasional dreams that still took pleasure in haunting him.

John attempted a smile, covering his dark expression as much for his sake as for hers. "Oh, you know. The old, tragic tale. Promising youth that went belly up, dragged down by money, position, the obligations of nobility. The usual. I was a bit of a rebel in my wayward youth, actually."

This seemed to intrigue her. "But you still managed to start your own company."

"True."

"And you've done some amazing things." She looked down at the swirls of steam curling up from her tea, sounding wistful. "Your family must be proud of you."

He stiffened a moment, then forced himself to relax, waving a dismissive hand. "Nah. The old Smith clan would've made their fortune some other way. There's guaranteed security for a family that marries at least one heiress every other r- generation."

She smirked. "So blue blood through and through, then?" He winked. She obviously knew the speech had been in jest, but she also likely sensed he preferred that to the truth. They were shaping up to be quite the pair, he thought sardonically.

He noticed she kept the topic on him and off herself as she continued. "And what about your family?" She infused her tone with affected awe. "Was your mum one of the heiresses you spoke of?"

His face clouded. "No, she…she was just..." He expelled a harsh breath. No point in hiding it. Plus, if he hoped for honesty from her he had to be willing to extend the same. He would tell her what he could of the grim facts. "She died when I was young. I don't remember much, really. My…my whole family died. I was the only survivor of…an accident. A fire."

She clearly hadn't expected this, and if he wasn't mistaken he detected a note of sympathy for him in her softening caramel eyes. Whether or not he deserved it was another matter. "You were left an orphan?"

"Yes and no. I was adopted shortly after. My adoptive father, Wilfred, was a member of the local council at the time when my case came through the system. His own wife died young and they had no children. And despite having no family of his own – or maybe because of it – he took me in. Took pity on me, most likely. I kept my original name, though. It was all I had. Anyway, he knew my story…knew what happened. I think he knows more about the specifics of it all than I do. But…he's never really talked much about it. To this day, actually. Maybe that's for the best." John stared off, lost in dark contemplation.

Her voice brought him back. "So he's still living?"

He brightened a little. "Oh, of course. Strong as an ox, that old soldier. Just try and suggest otherwise. He stays on at the manor just to take care of _me_. Or so he says. That's not half wrong, actually."

"You're lucky," she murmured.

His voice softened. "I thought you didn't believe in luck."

"No," she agreed. "But some people seem to have it just the same." She cleared her throat. "So what about you? What does John Smith believe in?"

He stared back at her, voice quiet and gaze thoughtful. "I think…I'm still figuring that one out."


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N** Things between John & Rose seem to be escalating, bringing Rose to a decision.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

What Rose had first told herself would be a one-time outing had somehow become a recurring event, with two more weekends spent together with John at the track. But after accepting his first invitation, it would have been difficult to turn down others without raising questions. And questions, after all, were the types of things she tried to avoid. She decided it was best in this case to simply go along.

And the surprising truth was, Rose found herself actually _enjoying_ those weekends. She loved the races, so maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise. Yet she began to realize that perhaps it wasn't just the races she found herself enjoying. It might have also been the company. Dr. Smith was… Well, she wasn't really sure _what_ he was or how to define him. But he was different from anyone she had known in ways she still couldn't fully explain.

He had his quirks, to be sure. And his intelligence rivaled anyone she had ever known. But he was also just…enjoyable to be with. He made her smile more often than not, was never at a loss for words even on the most trivial of topics, and he actually seemed to make strides to be a true gentleman – holding chairs, opening doors, and never pressuring her in inappropriate ways.

She was pretty certain he was attracted to her. Why would she have his attention otherwise? But that didn't seem to be his only source of interest, which surprised her. Surprised and concerned her. He truly seemed interested in _her_ , beyond the superficial sense. Of course, he didn't have the slightest idea who she really was, and it would have to stay that way.

They were now approaching another weekend, and as Rose had come to expect, John told her he'd like to spend the day with her again. What she hadn't expected was for him to say that his plans for the day were going to be a surprise.

A surprise. Rose had never been too keen on surprises, and she told him so. But he had responded, in that slightly smug way of his, that she would like this one.

Her mind was already turning over the possibilities in store while they drove southeast from the city, heading for the countryside on a bright Saturday afternoon. As they meandered over the green hills of Surrey, Rose wondered if he might be taking her riding. The idea thrilled her, as there was nothing she enjoyed more. But as they turned off the country lane and pulled down a stately private drive, she began to realize he had something far different in mind. Rose felt her pulse quicken. This was a private residence.

"Y-you're not…taking me to your place, are you?" she stammered. Was this it, then? Had he been playing the gentleman these past few weeks just to try to lure her in, only to get her alone at his place and attempt to seduce her? She should've paid even more careful heed to her mum's persistent warnings over the years.

John turned a small smile on her. "I thought it was time to bring you 'round to meet the family, so to speak."

Rose let out a breath. He had the quaint notion of wanting her to meet his _family_. Still the gentleman then, it would seem. But her relief was short-lived as irrational nervousness reared its head at the thought of this meeting. Irrational, because she shouldn't really care what his family or acquaintances might think of her. This whole thing with John was…well…nothing permanent, to be sure. But inexplicable nervousness flooded her just the same. "But you should've told me! I…I'm hardly prepared to meet them. I–"

"You're perfect," he countered, flicking his eyes over her in a way that made her breath momentarily catch. "And anyway, I think you'll like my adoptive dad. He's a good man. Down-to-earth, no nonsense, and a heart of gold. And, incidentally, don't breathe a _word_ of that to him. It'll go to his head."

She smiled a little. "Like father like son in that way, then?"

He flashed her a cheeky grin.

Her attention was drawn to the stately manor as they rounded the circular cobblestone drive and came to a stop outside the front entrance. The home looked to be of the Victorian era, with its steep, lofty gables and grand entry porch, all of which stood as an imposing welcome for a girl from a council estate.

"Welcome to Gallifrey Manor," John announced, putting the sports car in park.

"Gallifrey Manor," Rose repeated, eyes still taking in the sight. "'S a pretty name. What does it mean?"

"Gallifrey?" He shrugged. "Well, I study language as one of my hobbies…"

"Naturally," she quipped. "I'll bet rocket science is another fun pastime."

"Oh, it is!" he enthused. She rolled her eyes in amusement. "Anyway, there's one language in particular – ancient and nearly extinct – that's always intrigued me. When I acquired this place it didn't have a title, which just wouldn't do. No title? Rubbish! Every proper English home needs a title…or so I'm told. So I chose a name from that particular language." She looked at him as he paused, his brows drawing together. "Gallifrey simply means…home."

Rose looked back to the sizable residence. "Well, whatever you call it, it's certainly…impressive."

He sounded nonchalant in reply. "Nah, just a place to hang your hat, really. If one _wears_ a hat, that is. Never been a hat man myself, to be honest. They tend to do…unflattering things to one's hair. It's easy to see why they fell out of popularity as a predominate accessory. It's said the declining trend reached its peak in the late sixties, with university students wishing to distinguish themselves from their 'old-fashioned' elders. But _actually_ , a revolt against the dreaded phenomenon known as 'Hat Hair' was undoubtedly the root cause. " She fought and failed to suppress a giggle. He frowned. "What?"

"Do you always natter on about everything?"

He wagged a reproving finger at her. "I do not _natter_. Every word that comes from my mouth is of the utmost importance."

"Even when it comes to hats and hair?"

" _Especially_ when it comes to hats and hair."

It was such a simple thing, but Rose marveled at how natural their banter felt. There were times she became so at ease that she forgot she was playing a part. Forgot she was in the business of building funds for herself by lightening the load of others. Forgot she normally didn't trust being within ten feet of a man.

John slid out from behind the wheel and moved to her door, handing her out. They ascended a series of broad steps leading up to the front entry, where John unlatched the carved wooden doors and beckoned her inside.

A white-haired gentleman with soft slate eyes and a warm, open smile met them upon arrival into the entrance hall.

"Well now, it's about time!" the man greeted jovially. "I've been after this one to bring you 'round for weeks. Been curious, I have. I wanted to meet the woman who put that sparkle in his eye."

John actually seemed to blush at that.

The old man grinned, pointing playfully. "There, you see? That's it! That glimmer right there!"

John cleared his throat. "So much for formal introductions. Still, I suppose one of us should make the effort. Dad, this is Marion Stone. Marion, this is my father, Wilfred."

"How'd you do?" she greeted with a polite smile.

"Quite well now that you're here, sweetheart. This drafty old place is brighter already. Now then, I was just about to have a cuppa. Fancy one?"

Rose smiled again. "Yes, thank you. That sounds lovely."

She was a bit surprised by the man's informal nature. John was right about him being down-to-earth. Both of these men surprised her, actually. Neither one seemed to be the snobby, upper-class type despite their standing.

They entered the lounge off the main entry, tastefully arranged with plush divans and armchairs of woven jacquard. The color pallet throughout was warm and rich, with tones of maroon and gold predominating, lending the space an almost regal feel. Rose swallowed. Despite John's laid-back nature, she felt like she was in the home of a Lord.

Within the room, the young woman Rose knew to be John's sister-in-law was seated on the long central couch. Her silky charmeuse dress of deep cobalt – no doubt a designer French label – made Rose feel rather underdressed in her simple navy and white striped shift. Clothing differences aside, Rose still might've felt plain in comparison. The woman was a stunner, to be sure. She gave Rose an appraising, rather unimpressed look as they all entered. Yes, this was a bit more like the snobby upper class Rose would have expected to dwell here.

John introduced them as he indicated for Rose to take a seat beside him, both joining the young woman on the couch. "Marion, this is my sister-in-law, Reinette. She comes to visit me at work from time to time but I don't believe you two have actually met."

" _Former_ sister-in-law," the woman inserted. "We're no longer shackled by titles, are we, John? There is no need for unnecessary formalities between us, certainly."

Rose kept her voice pleasant, offering a polite smile. "It's nice to meet you."

Reinette gave a token smile in return. "Likewise. Yes, I believe I've seen you at TARDIS Corporation in recent weeks. You're on the cleaning staff, isn't that right?"

John opened his mouth to retort but Rose just shrugged, answering, "Close enough."

Wilfred took a seat across from them, motioning between the tea set and Reinette. "D'you mind, my dear?"

Reinette reached for the stout china teapot on the serving tray in front of them, wincing softly with the effort.

"Oh... I believe I sprained my wrist this morning whilst gardening. I really _ought_ to leave that sort of thing to the hired professionals, but they don't seem to have my knack when it comes to the intricacies of tending the gardenias." She rubbed her wrist, blue eyes gazing at John imploringly. "John, you'll have to indulge me in one of your _exquisite_ massages this evening." The blonde sighed euphorically, looking back to Rose. "He has a simply magical touch. I sometimes suffer from dreadful tension headaches when studying long hours, but John _always_ knows just how to bring me relief with those skillful hands of his."

"It's called sub-occipital release," John clarified. "Nothing magical about it. A simple therapeutic technique anyone can learn with practice."

Reinette smiled slowly. "And as I've said, you can practice on me any time." She turned her eyes back on Rose. "For now, Marion dear, would you please pour the tea? I'm sure you don't mind that sort of thing."

Rose gave a simple nod. She was aware of the game the girl was playing – the pursued claim she was guarding – but Rose reminded herself it didn't really matter in the long run. It wasn't as if she herself was a true competitor for John's affections. He wouldn't even have her here if he knew who she really was… _what_ she really was. "My pleasure."

"Reinette takes hers with a spot of lemon, isn't that right?" said John, earning a glare from the other woman.

"Now then, sweetheart," Wilfred began as Rose served the tea, either ignoring, or perhaps diverting from the tension in the room. "John tells me you like horses. That makes two of us, then. Do you get a chance to ride?"

"A little. I don't get the chance as often as I'd like, but what I lack in skill I make up for in passion." John's eyes cut to her, his seeming just a shade deeper. She cleared her throat from the distraction. "Riding has always been one of my favorite things."

"Good-o!" the older man said in approval. "I always say everyone should have a hobby that takes them outdoors. Nothing like it. Nothing at all. Just _try_ to keep me in. Why, I could spend hours outside just trotting over the countryside. And at night all I need is a warm thermos and my telescope to set me to rights. Now John? You'll find he enjoys stargazing just as much as I do." Wilfred paused and cut his eyes the man in question. "If not _more_. But riding? Sorry to disappoint, but he's not much for it, I'm afraid."

"I was rather hoping to break that news gently," John cut in. " _After_ I impressed her by showing her the stables."

Reinette made a subtle, disapproving sound into her teacup.

"Oh, come off it," Wilfred chuckled. "Trying to act like you brought her here to show off the horses, when you really brought her to show off _me_." Wilfred straightened an imaginary tie and winked at Rose. "Now that's done, you two run along and do what it is young people do when spring is in the air."

Wilfred grinned and made a shooing motion with his hands. Rose fidgeted uncomfortably. John choked on his tea.

-:-:-:-

John proceeded to show her around the stables, explaining that Wilfred, still full of vigor, wasn't just blustering when he said he still enjoyed riding, and he often invited friends up to join in the activity, occasionally even organizing sporting hunts within the informal society he'd dubbed the Silver Cloak.

As John gave Rose the tour, indulging her as she fawned over the horses, he seemed to take every opportunity to stand close or brush hands. He didn't take it beyond that, but even _this_ was enough to intensify the unexplainable feelings stirred within her. Rose wasn't a stranger to feeling uneasy around men. With John, though, it was something…different.

When he looked at her, he had an unnerving way of making her feel like he was seeing past the façade of Marion Stone. Which was nonsense, really. Because if he could see past that he surely wouldn't have her anywhere near him. Still, there was something in his gaze. Something…stronger than she was used to. She didn't quite know how to react to that, but her instincts told her to run. Run while she could.

She was going to _have_ to. She had to complete this job and go, and the sooner the better for everyone. She should have already had this done by now, relatively straightforward as it seemed. There had even been a couple of opportunities in the past few weeks where she might have been able to get her hands on the needed key. And yet…she had hesitated. She had never done that before. Completing a job had always come without second thoughts.

Until now she'd had relatively little trouble taking what she felt she needed in order to get a leg up in the word, telling herself that the Van Statten and Saxon types owed as much as a debt to humanity for leaving their dirty blotch on the world at large. But Dr. Smith – John – couldn't exactly be lumped in with that lot, could he?

He was different. She had seen that early on. He was different in a way that, though still indefinable, made her stomach tighten just thinking about. The more time Rose spent with him the more she realized she _had_ to get away from here. She had to get away from this man who could throw her off kilter with a single look and make her question her way of life without even trying.

She had stayed too long, and whatever was compelling her to remain had to stop. It was time to go through with the reason she'd come here in the first place. Maybe there wouldn't even be that much for the taking, she told herself. Not enough to really matter to him. Just enough to get her mum something nice again, enough to prove her daughter was more than capable of taking care of her, and enough to hold Rose over until she found another job. And then John would be rid of her and everyone would be better off.

It was settled, then. She would take the first opportunity that presented itself to finish this and be gone.

John had now completed the tour of the stables, drawing her mind back to the present as he turned to face her inside the stable's broad, oak-framed doorway. He looked…anxious. Uncertain. Perhaps even vulnerable as his eyes flicked down to his trainers, toeing the hay-strewn plank flooring as he rubbed the base of his neck.

"Would…would you come up to spend next weekend with us? With…well…with me? You can have your pick of the horses to ride." His lips twitched upward. "And I'll be sure to have Reinette serve you tea." His expression sobered again. "I've loved having you here, and you're welcome to come as often as you'd like."

Rose fought against the waves of unease churning inside her, attempting instead to reply to him with a smile. "I…I'd love to," she agreed, knowing that by next weekend Marion Stone would likely be gone.

He smiled back, looking so genuinely happy that she didn't immediately register he was moving closer until it was too late. Before she could divert him with any sort of tact, he was leaning in and gently brushing his lips over hers in a soft, lingering caress.

He pulled back just a fraction, his warm breath whispering over her face. "Brilliant."

Her heart raced and her throat tightened. Yes, she _had_ to get away.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N** Fasten your seatbelts and prepare for turbulence.

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Now that Rose had made up her mind to finish this and move on, it couldn't happen soon enough. She wanted it behind her so she could stop _thinking_ about it. This was a job. Simply a job. Nothing more.

Even still, this "profession" was not one she had ever actually planned to enter. It just sort of…happened that very first time, two years back when she'd worked for Henry Van Statten, a dealer in rare artifacts of various kinds. He had seen her working as a shop girl at Henrik's where he'd come to make a personal purchase, and he'd offered her a job with his own company on the spot. He hadn't even asked for her name. She'd been naive enough to accept without questioning and had actually believed it was her one chance to move up in the world. When she'd shown up for work the first day she had been so eager to secure the job that she'd brought with her fake ID she'd gotten off a trafficker on the estate. Fake credentials that, most importantly, included a fake education.

She had been working so hard there to master the few secretarial tasks he'd given her, to make something of herself, to earn enough to make her mum proud of her, only to soon learn that Van Statten had hired her not because he thought she had any kind of wit or value, but because he wanted something attractive to look at in his office. He told her as much the day he'd cornered and propositioned her, telling her a shop girl like herself – a meager chav – had no hope of earning real money unless men like him were pleased enough by her to toss some her way.

Rose had wanted to flee on the spot, horrified, humiliated and degraded, but she'd been afraid he would overtake her and force her. So she'd collected her wits and played it smart, even though a man getting up close to her like that, with _that_ sort of intent, was usually enough to make her fall to pieces in fright. She'd pulled it together out of necessity, _survival_ , and told him the thrill was in the anticipation, and if he waited until the next day she'd be prepared to make it much more worth his while. He had been intrigued and so disgustingly turned on by this that he'd agreed.

As she had stood there inwardly trembling and calming her breath, Adam had come in to speak with Van Statten. While the two men conferred off to the side, it was then she'd noticed a small bundle of cash on his desk, funds he'd planned to use in making a (no doubt illicit) trade later that day.

Unnoticed, Rose had struck without even clearly thinking, just knowing that she was soon to be out of work and he all but had this coming. From that day forward her life had taken on new meaning, for better or worse.

Now she had an objective. Now she had something she actually became skilled at. And in those fleeting pivotal moments she had _control_. In those moments _she_ was the pursuer, rather than the one being pursued – pursued by lusty men, pursued by self-doubts, and pursued by chilling fears that she'd never understood but had haunted her since childhood. In those brief moments of attainment she found an escape from it _all_. How could she stop this now? It was all she had.

-:-:-:-

Rose watched carefully all week for the right opportunity. At last, by Friday it presented itself. Rose knew of two people who possessed the sought after copies of the key, having seen them used before – Jackson Lake, whose office housed the safe, and Sarah Jane Smith. Dr. Smith himself likely knew the complex code by memory and needed no key. This left her with just two targets.

It was Sarah Jane Rose watched as the head secretary retrieved her purse from her locker that afternoon to go pick up curry take-out for the office, a Friday tradition. Upon returning from the errand, she had kept her pocketbook behind her desk rather than returning it to the locker, a practice Rose had observed in the past. All Rose would need were a few seconds alone near that desk.

The opportunity came a little later on when Sarah Jane took a brief break to the loo, leaving Rose with a clear path. She went to the head secretary's desk under the guise of borrowing extra letterhead, and bent down to open a lower drawer. There was the purse – small, beige, unassuming. Rose reached toward it. Her hand trembled slightly and she hesitated.

She _couldn't_ hesitate. She had to stop _doing_ that. Hesitation was the reason she had stayed this long, let John attempt to get this close, let herself become this unnerved. Drawing a breath and steadying her hand, Rose unsnapped the pocketbook, unzipped the inner pocket, and closed her fingers around the single brass key. She drew it out, returned the purse to its former position, and walked away.

The key smoldered like a hot coal in her pocket all afternoon. It was unnerving. Rose had done this sort of thing several times now, and she usually felt a sense of detachment, like it was truly just a job she was carrying out. And once it was finished she felt a sense of fulfillment, of having attained and accomplished something. Something of value. She'd never had that in her life prior to all this, and not just in monetary terms. She wondered if she would feel that same sense of accomplishment this time. Her stomach tensed at the thought. She tried not to think about it.

The rest of the day ticked by slowly; uneasily. Dr. Smith had passed her once or twice going to and from his lab, and those were the worst moments of the day. He would give her a warm smile or a sunny greeting that made her chest constrict. He really would be better off after this, she tried to tell herself. Because then he would realize what she really was, and he would be far, far better for having her gone.

Finally, the end of the day came at long last. As the various employees began clocking out and gradually leaving the building, Rose ducked into the ladies' room and waited. She stayed for what felt like an eternity, tucked silent and unnoticed in one of the end stalls, hearing the comings and goings around her as she contemplated the details of how this was to be done.

She had worked here long enough to learn the routines, knowing how long it generally took before the last person left for the day. Having stayed late on several occasions, she had also come to learn there was no night guard on the premises, security assured by an electronic system, with the tightest measures in place on the floors housing the labs. And being an employee, Rose had a pass code to the main entry, so she could let herself out of the locked building without tripping the alarm. As for security cameras, these were found only in the labs, not the offices. The details were squared away. It was now just a matter of completion.

All had been quiet for over thirty minutes now. Having given more than sufficient time to assure everyone had gone, Rose slowly and cautiously exited the loo. Peering out the door into the dimly lit office space, she was met only by silence. On any other night John himself might have still been here working late, but she'd learned earlier in the week that he had a business dinner to attend with Mr. Lake and a few other executives tonight. Yet another reason why it was now or never.

Making quiet haste, she headed toward Mr. Lake's office and her first target – the desk drawer which housed the combination to the safe. Donning a pair of gloves, she took out the key from her pocket and opened the top left drawer. She drew out the simple slip of paper containing the code and made her way toward the safe, recessed within the far left wall and concealed beneath a 3D rendering of the atomic structure.

Rose moved the picture aside and swallowed to moisten her dry throat. Nearly done. Reading the code, she entered the combination into the safe's keypad. There was a soft snick. She drew an unsteady breath. Unlike her past jobs, this time her hand shook as she pulled down on the handle and opened the safe.

It didn't appear to be an astronomical amount, but sizable nonetheless. And it was there, it was within reach and she couldn't back out now.

Rose could never fully describe the compulsion that seized her in these moments. It was almost as if she watched from outside her body, her hands moving instinctually towards the attainable. All she knew was it felt like…a _need_. A need to attain something, to fill some place in her, to be in control of something and banish any form of helplessness or vulnerability.

She could feel perspiration beading on her brow as she reached out with a trembling hand. Despite that consuming, driving need, somehow she couldn't bring herself to clutch greedily at all that lay within. Her fingers seemed to wrap more easily around her plunder if, just this once, she only took a portion, about half of what looked to approximate thirty thousand pounds. Even with a lighter load, the bundles of notes felt heavy as lead as she stuffed them into her purse.

Her whole body now shaking, Rose closed the safe and replaced the picture. She walked to the drawer and slipped the written combination back inside, closing and locking it. She dropped the key back in her purse and stripped off her gloves.

Like a literal thief in the night, Rose slipped out of the building and left TARDIS Corporation behind her.

-:-:-:-

John felt lighter than he had in recent memory as he drove to Marion's flat to pick her up that Saturday morning. Each day that passed in her company, his interest in her grew.

No, not interest. _Feelings_.

He had developed feelings for this woman that frankly surprised him in their intensity. There was just something about her, deep down, that drew him. He still didn't know as much about her as he hoped to in time. But he knew that she had qualities of warmth, gentleness and understanding – understanding toward _him_ and what she knew of his past, the thing he'd had trouble forgiving his own self for and had even cost him his prior relationship. She also knew about the tragedy in his early life and had gotten him to open up a little about it without even trying.

They seemed to have a sort of common ground when it came to their loneliness and their losses. But they didn't sit around and commiserate. No, she brought him _out_ of that. She laughed with him, and sometimes _at_ him, but even this delighted him. And when she turned one of those full beaming smiles on him, she nearly brought him to his knees.

Surely his initial suspicions about her were misguided. Even still, he knew there were things she still held back – things about herself and her family beyond the vague details she'd given. Why was she still sometimes uncomfortable talking about herself? Her past? What was the reason for her inexplicable fears that sprang fiercely and unpredictably? He didn't have all the answers to these questions yet, and they still niggled at him. But whatever scars may or may not be in her past, he hoped to prove that he could be trusted with them. He wasn't a stranger to scars. She didn't have to hide them from someone like him.

But enough of unpleasant thoughts. Today was about the simple enjoyment of being in each other's company. He practically bounced from his car and up the steps to her flat. He headed down the hallway and stopped outside the door to her apartment. He knocked, rocking anxiously on his heels as he waited for her to answer. A moment passed with no response. He knocked again. An older woman in the apartment next door stuck her graying head out into the hall and called down to him.

"Are you looking for the young lady, love?"

John turned toward her and nodded. "Yes, I am. Marion Stone. Do you know if she's stepped out?"

The woman frowned and nodded. "Oh, she's out, all right. Cleared out in a right hurry, she did."

At first the full meaning of the words didn't register. "I'm sorry?"

"She packed up and took off last night. I saw the manager help her load her things in a cab and then re-key the lock."

John felt his throat constrict, but he managed to get out one more question. "Do you…do you know where she was going? Did you overhear her say?"

The old woman pursed her thin lips, sounding affronted. "Well, it was hardly my concern, was it? I'm not a busybody, you know."

He didn't even thank the woman. He was numb as he turned and made for his car.

Outside, John dropped down into the driver's seat and heaved out a long, shaky breath. It took several moments before he could even begin to process his thoughts. It wasn't just the fact that she had gone without a word that left him feeling sucker-punched. It was the reason that he now knew, _knew_ had to be the cause for her sudden departure. Even still, he had to see the evidence for himself before his mind could fully accept it.

John drove like a madman to the Corporation, let himself in the closed building with shaking hands, paced like a caged animal as the lift took him to the business floor, and practically sprinted down the empty hall to the office in question. The one that housed the safe. If the same scheme used against Saxon was carried out here, he already knew exactly where to check. He came to a halt in front of the safe, swallowed, then entered the combination and opened the latch.

He just stood there for a moment, staring. It was true. Dear God, it was true. He didn't even have to count the money to see that at least half was missing. This momentarily puzzled his churning mind. If she was going to do this, and she _had_ , why not bloody well just take it all? Not that it really mattered. Whatever reason for leaving some behind could not atone for taking any at all.

Anger, betrayal and pain sliced through him like a knife. _Why_? Why had he begun to trust her? Why had she carried on with him the way she had? As if she _cared_ for him? Yet beneath the raw pain and anger lay the realization that he had brought this on himself, really. He'd practically set himself up for it. He'd had his initial suspicions and had known something like this was possible at the very start. But he'd been foolishly intrigued by her, conducting his bloody, _stupid_ experiment of hiring her to see if he was right. Well, now he knew.

The one variable he hadn't accounted for in his grand equation, however, was falling for her.

What was he to do now? The first and obvious choice would be to call the police. It was perhaps the most logical step and one he shouldn't even debate. And yet…something held him back. And heaven help him, he knew what that was. Foolish as it seemed now, he _still_ had feelings for her. That was not something he could just shut off, as much as he might wish he could right about now. And if she were simply arrested and charged, he might never learn the true reason behind why she had done this – why she had targeted his company.

To learn she had been involved in the Saxon incident could have left a thousand reasons as to why. The vile man could have owed her as much and broken a deal, or any number of possible explanations. But this? _Him_? Was she just a common, ruthless thief? Was her targeting of TARDIS Corporation random or purposeful? And, more importantly, had he meant anything to her at all? Well, _that_ answer seemed glaringly obvious now.

Even still, he kept circling back to his prior thoughts on her as his feelings for her had developed. He thought back to a conclusion he'd reached just a few short weeks ago…

 _He still sensed she was hiding something, but he also sensed that she was not, deep down, a malicious person. A troubled person, perhaps. But not malicious._

Was that true? If so, just how troubled was she? He had a strong sense that there was something more to all this than common criminal intent. More to her life, her actions and her motives. There was just something not quite right there. The unexplained fear, the sheer _terror_ he had seen in her at times was not something easily faked, nor had there been any reason for her to. He knew something of psychology, he knew something of his _own_ embedded issues to recognize repressed trauma of some sort.

Sometimes criminal behavior stemmed from issues outside of the perpetrator's control. John didn't know for certain if that was the case here, but if he ever cared for this woman at all, if just one of those smiles she'd given him had been genuine, he had to find out.

If that _was_ the case, he wasn't going to prosecute her. He was going to… John swallowed heavily, utterly taken aback by the direction of his own thoughts, the idea springing forth that was surely total and complete _madness_.

Well, he had been called mad more than once in his life. Apparently it was quite true.

John paced back and forth, tugging furiously at his hair as his mind worked at a frantic pace. First things first. How was he going to find her? He didn't know where she was. He likely didn't even know her real name.

"Think, think, _think_ ," he ground out under his breath.

He drew to a sudden halt as a thought struck him. He did know _one_ piece of information about her, and he was fairly certain this one thing, at least, was genuine. If he was very, _very_ lucky, it just might be the key to finding her.

-:-:-:-

The balmy winds of late spring whipped through Rose's untamed hair as she galloped across the lush countryside. Riding had always been her escape; her refuge. Now more than ever. This wasn't a merry Sunday jaunt. This was an attempt to outrun…everything.

She wanted to put the entire Smith affair behind her. She wanted to purge herself of the very memory. Riding helped. In moments like this she was simply Rose Tyler. And Rose Tyler, she tried to tell herself, had not been the one to wrong anyone. It had been Marion Stone. And before her Andrea Prentice and the handful of other identities she'd assumed over the past two years.

Except…that wasn't really true. It _had_ been her, Rose Tyler, who had done all those things. _She_ had. Her pace slowed, as if literally loaded down by the weight she couldn't shake off. For a moment Rose felt physically ill. She had never allowed herself to ponder her actions too deeply before. Now that these thoughts were overtaking her, it was almost too much.

She didn't…she didn't _want_ this anymore. She didn't want to _be_ this anymore. She never really had. But ever since she had gotten that first taste of attainment and control it was like she couldn't stop. Maybe what Rose had sensed from her mum all these years was right. Maybe there _was_ something wrong with her. All one had to do was be around her when one of her unexplained fears was triggered and they, too, would know. She wasn't like other people. She was…

No.

She couldn't let her mind go there. She couldn't. There was no changing how she felt, who she was, so her only hope of maintaining her sanity was to not question it. She was fine. She would always be fine. She was doing quite well for herself. She was taking care of herself _and_ her mum included. Surely that counted for something. And what else was she to do? If she didn't look out for herself in life no one else would. As for John Smith, he had seemed like a decent enough bloke, but he probably would have shattered that illusion too, given enough time.

-:-:-:-

The sun was starting to sink, painting the horizon in broad, blending strokes of oranges and golds as Rose finished her ride, bringing Lykos back to the stable and dismounting. She handed him off to the stable hand and was turning to head back toward the main house when she froze, legs motionless and breath stuttering to a halt at the utterly unexpected sight that greeted her.

John. It was _John._ It couldn't be, yet it _was._

He was _here_. He had _found_ her. And he was now walking toward her with brisk, determined strides, his long tan coat billowing out behind him.

Her heart jumped to her throat then plummeted. Her first instinct was to run, but there was a slim, _slim_ chance he had not pegged her for the robbery and was looking only for _her_. But the Torchwood boarding house was _not_ the rental address he had for Marion Stone. This was _Rose's_ residence. How on Earth had he found her here?

There was no time to think. He was upon her, his gaze boring into her, his eyes as tempestuous as a brewing storm. There was nothing for it but to try to affect some sort of calm pleasantry. "D-Dr. Smith…John…I-I didn't expect to see y–"

"No," his low, firm voice cut her off. "I'm quite sure you didn't. Come with me. You're packing your things."

His hand was on her arm then, and before Rose could attempt to react or retreat she was being marched toward the house, her legs numbly carrying her along in his insistent wake.

He knew.

She was done for.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N** Rose is confronted with the consequences of her actions, facing far more than she'd bargained on.

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

"How did you find me?" Rose asked in bewilderment, at a loss as to how this inexplicable man had tracked her down. These were the first words she'd managed to get out since they'd made their way back to the Torchwood boarding house. She was now thoughtlessly stuffing her belongings into open suitcases as he had instructed, her mind reeling over the possibilities of what would happen next. Why hadn't he just called the police on her? Maybe he wanted the satisfaction of hauling her in himself.

John leaned against the closed door of her small rented room, keeping her under his watchful gaze. "When I went to call on you yesterday and found you'd pulled up stakes, I realized right away what had likely happened."

Her mouth went dry. How had he suspected her of that before he'd even discovered the missing money? "H-how did you know?"

"We'll get to that. We'll get to a lot of things," he promised. She didn't like the ominous sound of those words. "But once I confirmed what had happened, I set out to find you. The only piece of information I had that I thought might be genuine was your enthusiasm for horses. I also remembered the first race we'd attended together and the horse named Telepathy, how you said you'd watched him train for a few years. So I tracked down the horse to its trainer who recognized your description…Rose Tyler."

Hearing him say her name, her _real_ name, sent a shiver through her. He was seeing past the façade now. It was as if she were standing beneath a dam and waiting for it to break, wondering when he would unleash the anger and repulsion he was surely feeling.

"In talking with him I found out he was also the one who had helped to train your _own_ horse," John went on. "He was a very obliging man for the right price, and when I asked if he knew where you kept the horse stabled he was able to give me the name and address of this place. Luckily you told me the truth about _one_ thing."

"Yeah. Lucky," she muttered miserably.

He indicated for her to keep packing. "All right. First question. How did you get into the safe?"

Rose knew there was no point in denial now, though she found it surprisingly difficult to actually admit to it out loud. "I…I took Sarah Jane's key from her purse to access the combination."

He simply nodded. He was being so calm about this, yet she feared it was the calm before the storm. If John Smith had unnerved her before, it didn't hold a candle to how he made her feel right now. "Okay, let's start at the beginning now that I've discovered a few things. Is Rose Tyler your real name? And I'd advise you against any more lies at this point."

She paused, anxiously biting her lower lip in unconscious habit. "Yes."

"And where's the money?"

Reaching for her purse on the nearby nightstand, Rose pulled out the heavy bundles, thrusting it all toward him. She just wanted to be _rid_ of it at this point. "Here. Take it. That's everything."

He took the money, flipped through it, then tucked divided stacks into each side of his jacket. "And the key?"

She retrieved this as well and dropped it into his waiting hand.

He took a breath, now seeming to require a little more effort to maintain his composure. "So, is this where you're going to tell me it was intended for a good cause? Like a mother's operation or kid brother's A-Levels?"

"I haven't got a brother. Or a mother," she stressed. The very _last_ thing she wanted was him digging deep enough to find her mum. "There's no one. Just me."

He seemed to accept that much, at least for now. "And your 'late' husband Mr. Stone? Has he miraculously come back from the dead, intending to pad his pockets full of TARDIS Corporation money?"

She shook her head insistently. "No. Like I said, there's no one else. That was just a name I used. Just…a story."

He stared at her for a long, appraising moment. "All right, then. You now realize handing over the money and the key is more irrevocable than a confession, right?"

Why didn't he just take her to the police and be done with it, she thought? If he intended to make her squirm first he was doing a fine job. "I think you've made it quite plain that you have the upper hand here, yeah."

He nodded once. "Just so we're clear. Now, back to your husband…"

Rose zipped up the last of her bags and sat heavily on the bed beside them. On the outside she appeared resigned and defeated. On the inside she was clinging to the slim hope that he might show some shred of lenience and had to watch what she said, cautiously blending fact with fiction. He already knew far too many unforgivable facts about her as it was.

"I haven't _got_ a husband. I never did. There's never been anyone but me. My father died when I was a baby, like I said. And my mother…she died when I was still in secondary school. I grew up poor and then had to go straight to work after sitting for my GCSEs. No other choice. The highest paying job I ever had was at Henrik's department store. Around that time I got mixed up with a no-good bloke named Jimmy Stone. He was horrible. I ran away from him and started going by the name Marion. My middle name. But by that time I was already stuck with a pile of debt. I was desperate. That's when the opportunity at your company came along. And like I said, I was desperate."

She finished and took a breath, not quite meeting his eye. Okay, _some_ of that was true. Hopefully it made her sound a _little_ less despicable, though she didn't think she had ever felt more so.

The man who held her fate in his hand pushed off from the door and strode a few steps closer. "Well, that was certainly a colorful and melodramatic story. Now let's see if we can sift through that pile of rubbish and dig out a few facts. For one thing, you left out the little detail of your last employment being with the firm Saxon & Company. And no point in denying it because I _saw_ you there once. Saxon is the tax consultant for TARDIS Corporation. It's unfortunate your job there didn't give you access to the names of all their clients. He's the one who pointed you out to me once, though you were a brunette at the time. A few months later he pointed out your very noticeable absence."

Rose gaped at him, not quite knowing what to say. It seemed she was learning a few things about _him_ now as well. "You…you mean you already _knew_. You knew about me all along? From the time you hired me?"

His hand went to the back of his neck, eyes shifting downward. "Not entirely, no. I had my suspicions but I wasn't positive. So I thought it best just to keep an eye on you and try to find out more. Hiring you was…a bit of an experiment on my part."

Rose stood to her feet, the guilt she'd been feeling quickly replaced by anger. Maybe she didn't have a right to feel it, but she was only human and it was there just the same. She had begun to think that maybe he was one of the few decent men out there, but he had apparently just been playing a game with her. "So all this time you've been laying a _trap_ for me! And here I thought…I even began to… Oh my God, you're just another one of them!"

His left eyebrow arched in irony. "I don't think you're in a position to throw stones, Rose Tyler. At any rate, I was just curious at first. And then…things changed. I…I began to genuinely like you."

"Oh, yes. That much is obvious," she bit out.

"As obvious as the fact that you're a thief and a liar?" he countered. Rose flinched. "Now the question remains, to what extent? Compulsive? Pathological? Or simply cold and calculated?"

She slumped back down on the edge of the bed, the antique iron frame creaking in protest. "What difference does it make?"

He moved a few paces closer to her, voice dropping in pitch but rising in intensity. "It makes quite a difference, actually."

Rose looked up, shaking her head. "Why?"

"Because it makes a difference to _me_." They stared at each other in tense silence. He finally shifted his gaze to her packed bags. "All right. Let's get your things in my car. You're coming with me."

"So you're taking me to the police?" It was a stupid question. Of course he was. But why take her things with them? It wasn't like she could keep them where she was likely going.

There was a long pause before he answered. "No. I'm not taking you to the police."

"I…I don't understand. Then what _are_ you gonna do?"

He blew out a long, jagged breath. "I'm going to protect you."

"W-what?"

Grabbing the larger suitcase, he motioned for her to take the smaller two. "Come on. We best be off."

She had no choice but to follow, bewildered, having no clue what would come next.

-:-:-:-

As soon as they started off in the car, Rose turned to him, a plea in her voice.

"John, look I…I know you probably won't believe me now, and that's my own fault. And all right, it's true about Saxon. I admit that. I did it. I…don't really even know why. I just went sort of…mad I guess. But Mr. Saxon, he was just so…so… Oh my God, I hated him. I _hated_ him!"

He forced his tone to remain even. "Like you hate me?"

John's gaze flicked to hers to gauge her response to the question. She glanced down. "No. No, not you. I didn't. That wasn't the reason at all. I just…I dunno how to even explain it, really."

He turned his eyes back to the road. They'd get to the topic of her feelings for him – good, bad or indifferent – later. "You make it sound like your actions with Saxon were some sort of sudden impulse. But that doesn't fit with your premeditated use of an alias – in that case _or_ in this one."

She exhaled heavily, turning her defeated expression toward the window. "What's the use? What does it even matter? What's the point in trying to make you understand?"

His grip tightened on the wheel. "I'm not just trying to understand you. Don't you get that? I'm trying to _believe_ you."

She looked back to him in surprise. "Why?"

"Because I bloody well _want_ to! Can't you see that? I'm trying very hard to believe that behind all this madness, behind Andrea and Marion and God knows who else, that somewhere underneath it all _Rose_ is the woman I thought I saw glimpses of in your smile…in your eyes. If that makes me a fool, well…I suppose it's too late to be helped."

"Oh, John," she murmured, and if he wasn't mistaken he detected a genuine note of regret. "The reasons for what I did at your Corporation were just…so mixed up. I can't even explain it. All I knew was I felt like I had to get away. Away from how…how complicated things had become. Can't you understand that? Things were just…I mean, we were…"

His eyes remained on the road with effort. "Yes, we were. Or at least I _thought_ we were. But is that any reason to run? Am I that bad?"

"No," she answered, so softly that he had to strain to hear her above the hum of the motor. "But you just don't understand. You don't understand how much it…frightened me."

His brows drew together. "Why? And why didn't you say?"

"I…I couldn't."

John swallowed, but his voice still cracked. "Then why didn't you just go?"

Her raw tone matched his. "I wish I had. 'Cause whether I took the money or not, all I knew for sure was I needed to get out before I got hurt."

"I wouldn't hurt you."

She angled toward him. "Then just let me go. Please! I know you have no reason to believe me now, and I can't blame you for that. But the truth is I regretted what I did as soon as I really thought about it. And even in the moment I couldn't seem to bring myself to take it all. That's not saying much, I know. But for what it's worth it's true. I am so, _so_ sorry. I wish more than anything that I hadn't done it. And if you let me go I swear that this sort of thing won't happen again. I don't…I don't want to do this ever again. You said you weren't gonna turn me in. So please just let me _go_."

The more she talked, the more convinced he became that her actions really were some sort of compulsion. He could hear in her regretful voice that she really _didn't_ want to continue with this sort of lifestyle. But he could also see in her conflicted eyes her own doubt over whether she could stop. If he simply let her go there was no telling the disaster that would befall her if she continued down this path. She would get prison or worse.

"I can't do that," he finally replied, voice softening. "If I did I'd be culpable on a moral _and_ criminal level."

In his periphery, he could see her whole body stiffen. "So if you're not turning me in then what are your plans for sealing my fate? 'Cause I know you've gotta have _something_ planned, be it revenge or punishment or–"

"You're right, I do," he admitted. "But it's not out of any sort of revenge. In fact it's _my_ fate I plan on sealing, for better or for worse." He swallowed thickly, his mind tumbling over what lay ahead.

He actually intended to go through with this mad idea. This wasn't a black or white situation for him and he didn't see any better way…for either of them. They were _both_ in too deep, for various reasons. He couldn't just wash his hands of her and her fate, nor could he go back to his own life as if Rose had never entered it. She desperately needed someone. She told him she had no one, and he believed that much was true. And, insane as it might be at this point, something deep inside him seemed to need Rose Tyler, too.

What was it Rose lacked that drove her actions? Security? He could give her that. What was it she needed but seemed she'd never had? Love? He….well…he could give her that, too. He would be lying to himself if he tried to deny that he had begun imagining a life with her before all this. A future. Any ordinary person would have seen such a future now shattered to bits. Call him mad, but he still held on to that desire, even if it went against sanity, against his better judgment and against his own guarded disposition that, prior to Rose, would've had him running from such a notion.

"Sealing _your_ fate? What's that s'pose to mean?" she warily questioned him, her accent momentarily thickening. "You're not makin' any sense."

He took a breath, then let it out slowly. "Someone has to help you, Rose. The justice system isn't designed to do that properly in cases like this, in my opinion. So this is what we're going to do. I'm taking you back to my place tonight, then first thing tomorrow you're going to see that Sarah Jane's key conveniently finds its way back where it belongs."

Rose shook her head, eyes widening. "How can I possibly go back there after all this?"

"You don't have to worry about that. No one else knows. Remember when I said I put two and two together? Once I learned you'd skipped out, I went and checked the safe, remembering how things went down at Saxon's. I discovered the loss before anyone else did. I tallied what was missing and have already replaced it."

"And…why do you want to take me to your place tonight?" she pressed. He thought he heard an edge of panic in her voice.

"Because you're obviously a flight risk. I can't take the chance on you running away again. No wandering off this time."

"How can I? You have the money, all my possessions packed in this car, my real name and address…"

He glanced at her, eyes narrowed. "Yes, I do. So why do you seem so sure you would be okay if I just let you go? You're sure the name I have is your _only_ name? No husband or two you've acquired along the way, waiting in the wings to help you out?"

Her tone hardened around the edges. "I already told you, _no_. I've never been married."

She seemed quite sincere about this. Still, he had to be sure. "Was there ever a Jimmy Stone?"

Rose sighed, looking down at her folded hands. "Sort of. He _was_ a good-for-nothing bloke I met awhile back at Henrik's, like I said. But I didn't actually get mixed up with him. I made a point to try to keep my distance, 'cause he was just another one of those men who only wanted one thing and didn't like to take no for an answer. In other words, a typical man and one I didn't mind conjuring up as dead."

He lifted an eyebrow at such cynical words. "And no others whose affections were ever mutual?"

" _No_ ," she affirmed, vehemently shaking her head. "No one. Not ever."

He cut her a sidelong glance. All else aside, she was still a young, vibrant woman. Surely there had been _someone_ at some point. "I frankly find it hard to believe there's never been any man you've at least cared for."

"There hasn't been." She paused. "No one's ever given me a reason to."

John's heart began to pound so hard he could've sworn in that moment he had two. "And what about me? Was every moment we spent together just a ploy?"

Silence stretched on. At last, she answered in an almost timid voice. "No. I…I liked spending time with you. I know it was wrong, and that I shouldn't have. But…I did."

They came to a stop at a traffic light and he turned to her. "That wasn't wrong, Rose. As far as I can see, that was the only _right_ thing in all of this."

He could see the movement of her slender throat as she swallowed heavily. "John…I…what's gonna happen now?"

The light changed, and he was forced to turn his gaze back to the road. Maybe that was best. His escalating nervousness would have shown in his eyes. "That's up to you. But I'll tell you the plan I have to, hopefully, begin trying to fix things. We'll go back to my place. When we get there, I'll tell everyone we had a lover's row and you ran away. That will explain why neither of us showed up as planned on Friday. I went after you, made amends and brought you back. My wild Rose. Rose… Yes. I'll explain that I've taken to calling you by your first name as an endearment." His eyes flit to her, and he rushed the next words out. "Then I'll explain that we plan to be married as soon as possible, in which case you should stay on at Gallifrey Manor in the meantime because I can't bear to be parted from you for even a moment."

"W- _what_?" she gasped aloud. "You can't possibly…that's just…that's _madness_. No one is ever gonna believe–"

"And then we'll be married as soon as legally allowed. Then we'll get away…far away, just the two of us…and finally have a chance to sort this. _Us_."

She stared at him, mouth agape. He couldn't blame her. "A-are you completely _mad_? You…you can't possibly be _serious!_ What in God's name do you hope to accomplish by all this?"

It was a struggle to keep his voice even, not to show he was almost as uncertain about all this as she was. "A marriage. I should think that's now obvious. If you'd like a formal proposal I can pull over and get down on one knee."

Her voice rose even higher in pitch. "You're insane! Absolutely insane!"

"That's quite possible," he acknowledged, mouth twisting up wryly.

She was breathing heavily now, sounding almost in a state of panic. "But…but you know who I am. You know _what_ I am! Why would you _want_ someone like me? Unless…unless this is some twisted form of punishment you've conjured up. Is that it? Lifelong forced imprisonment with the man I've wronged?"

He shook his head. "It's not a prison sentence. Quite the opposite. It's a way out of the destructive life you're living before it's too late."

"So a selfless act of goodwill on your part?" she spat.

"No. It's substantially more. At least for me. Because it seems to have been my lot in life to have…" He paused and drew a breath. "To have fallen in love with, as you put it, 'someone like you.'"

The dumbstruck woman beside him said nothing for several long moments. "L-love?" she finally repeated on a whisper, as if such a word had never been spoken to her before. "Y-you don't mean that. You can't possibly."

John pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped, needing to give this conversation – needing to give _her_ – his full attention. Their eyes met, the level of sincerity in his matching the level of doubt in hers. "Yes, Rose Tyler. I do. Don't ask me to explain it, but I do. I did before all this happened, and my feelings haven't changed. And I'll prove it to you if you'll give me the chance. What is it you've been so desperate for, money? Well, now you'll _legally_ have all you need. And you'll have…me."

"Oh, John," she breathed out shakily, eyes flitting between both of his like the nervous fluttering of a caged bird's wings. "If that's true, if you care anything about me at all, then _please_ just let me go. You may think you have me figured out, but believe me you _don't_ know me. I'm not like everyone else. Listen to me, please. I know what I am."

"I doubt you really do." He reached over to place a hand atop hers, feeling the tremble in her. "But whatever it is you are, we'll deal with it together."

She froze, then jerked her hand from beneath his as if burned. "You don't love me. To you I'm just some sort of…of experiment you're conducting! Your latest science project. I can see the title of your research paper now: _The Results of Affection on the Criminally Inclined,_ " she mockingly accused.

"If that's what you want to think, then so be it. I hope to soon change your mind about my motives. But in the meantime, someone has to look out for you, Rose. You need help. You have to be stopped before you ruin your entire life." She looked away, but he pressed on. "Try this, Rose. Give this a chance. Give _us_ a chance. In return you'll be getting a chance at a new life."

She looked back to him, voice quavering. "Why do you have to _marry_ me? Why not just…just have your way, get what it is you really want from me out of your system and be done with it?"

He breathed out heavily. She still didn't get it. "Because I don't just want you once, Rose. I want you always. And I'm not just trying to _take_ you. I'm trying to _give_ me." He heard her choke down a sob as she looked away again. He glanced down. "And if, after a period of time you've truly changed your ways but not your attitude toward this, then I'll not try to coerce you into staying."

She looked back to him then, her wide uncertain eyes searching his. "How can I trust that?"

"Much more easily than I can trust you at the moment," he countered. "And right now I'm afraid it's either me or the police. That's it. Your choice."


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N** John and Rose face the aftermath of the previous.

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Rose had agreed.

She hadn't been ecstatic about it, by any stretch. But she had agreed to at least give this… _proposal_ a try. That was all John could ask. As he'd said, he wouldn't try to hold her to this down the road if she never came to want it. To want him. But she had agreed for now. That was a start. The woman in question was now settling into one of the upstairs guest rooms while John undertook the task of breaking the news to Wilfred. Reinette was out for the time being, which was just as well. That left just the two men seated alone in the downstairs study.

"You mean to say you intend to marry the girl?" Wilfred's surprised voice questioned. "And…now? So soon?"

John tugged at the lobe of his ear, nodding.

He didn't require the older man's approval in order to go through with this, but he hoped to have it just the same. Their relationship had always been a somewhat unconventional one, and for as long as John could remember he and his adoptive father had been more like close mates. Be that as it may, John sometimes had the feeling _he_ was the one being looked up to by Wilfred, and the older man saw himself as small in comparison. John supposed that sort of regard came with having such a bloody high IQ. Which, John always thought, mattered little in the scheme of things. It was those like Wilfred who John saw as giants among the human race. In short, Wilfred's opinion was one John valued, so perhaps he just wanted to be assured that the step he was about to take was a sound one.

"She said yes," John confirmed, feeling an involuntary rush of relief at the admission despite the extenuating circumstances.

Wilfred leaned forward in contemplation, one hand scratching through his gray stubble. "I'm not gonna tell you that you shouldn't do this. You're certainly a grown man and you know your own mind. But I still feel like it's my job to…look out for you. Try at least. That's the job I signed on for, and a proud one to be sure. So if it's the advice of an old man you're looking for, mine would be to at least wait a bit until you know you're both sure. She's a lovely girl, this Marion – _Rose_ – of yours. I'm already quite fond of her. Was from the first. But you two haven't known each other that long. What's the rush? You've both got years ahead of you yet. Plenty of time for that sort of thing."

The advice made sense, of course, but not all of the complicating factors were known. For Rose's sake, John wasn't going to jeopardize her by divulging damaging details. But he did have enough trust in Wilfred to tell more than he would to anyone else.

John puffed his cheeks and blew out slowly. "Thing is, Rose is in a very…difficult situation. She has no one and she's in a position where she _needs_ someone. Very much. Waiting would only complicate matters, I'm afraid. I'll be in a position to offer her more support this way. More security. More…everything."

Wilfred frowned. "So you're marrying her to…help her?"

"Well…yes and no. I'm marrying her because I very much want to. _And_ because I want to help her. It's…complicated."

Wilfred cracked a small smile. "When is it ever not with you, eh? So what's this trouble you speak of?" he asked. "I don't understand that bit."

John considered his response. "Like I said, it's complicated. But there are things in her past that have made life…difficult for her. There are things she needs help overcoming. That much is obvious."

"Why do you say that?"

Clearly, not everyone recognized that type of thing as readily as he did. "Because I can see the signs as if they were flashing in neon. The same signs that light up over my own head from time to time," he added in a lowered voice.

Wilfred's confusion softened to understanding. "Look, son, I know we've had this talk before, but at some point you've gotta just…let go of the past. Don't dwell on things you can't change."

"This isn't about me," John deflected, hoping to leave it at that. The subject was never a particularly comfortable one for either of them.

"Maybe it should be. Are you having those nightmares again? Those old dreams about…your family and the fire?"

A humorless laugh passed his lips. "To say I'm having them again would imply they at some point left. But I've learned to deal with my issues over the years – to move on as best I can and not let it direct my life. I'm not sure Rose has ever reached that point. I want to help her try. But it's not just that. I just…I want her in my life. I want to give her a commitment. I want to be there for her in a way that no one else ever has. I love her." The last was said with quiet conviction, and it surprised him how the truth of those three words seized his heart.

John knew he didn't have the greatest track record when it came to relationships. When he became involved with Joan, he had been living with that undercurrent of loneliness. Then she had come along and they had seemed like a logical match. But it all fell apart and slipped away from him. He didn't want this to slip away from him.

He knew Rose cared for him. He had _felt_ it. There was definitely something there. This would all be pointless otherwise. With luck, they would build on that. It might take time but he had hope that it would come. She was wary of his motives and likely fearing some sort of revenge. He understood that. If he were in her place, why would someone he had wronged want to offer him anything favorable in return? He, too, would likely suspect there to be a catch. In addition, it seemed she had a hard time with trust as it was, and it didn't help that she apparently had only ever known the wrong sort of men. But he hoped to change all that, at least in time. It was a tall order, granted. But he'd never been one to shy away from the seemingly impossible.

Wilfred's gaze was intent, his tone earnest. "Tell me this, does she make you happy?"

A smile tugged at his lips, John's answering voice a throaty whisper. "Yeah."

"And do you make her happy?"

His smile faltered. "I'll spend my life trying."

"Then grab a hold of that happiness. If anyone deserves it, it's you."

-:-:-:-

The wedding was an informal frenzy that Rose could scarcely wrap her head around. There was no poufy meringue of a gown, no mile-long guest list, no pricey venue. It was to be a simple affair arranged in short order, held on the premises of Gallifrey Manor with a handful of Smith family acquaintances. Traditionally there would have been at least _someone_ on Rose's side of the guest list as well. But this wasn't a traditional affair.

Rose didn't want her mum to know anything about this – about the life her daughter had been leading to bring her to this point. As far as Rose knew, John had not revealed the sordid details to anyone, but she could not hang all her hopes on his discretion and thus reveal her mum to him. Not to mention how utterly disapproving her mum would be of such an out-of-the-blue marriage. Jackie had a strong opinion about men in general. And this, Rose suspected, would _not_ meet with her approval. And her mum's approval, after all, was all Rose had ever really wanted.

Fortunately Rose's _work_ usually kept her away for months at a time, so her mum wouldn't suspect anything just yet. And one good thing about this happening so quickly was it gave John little time to focus on anything else; to _dig_ for anything else. Rose didn't know how long she could keep John Smith and Jackie Tyler from knowing of each other's existence in her life, but she would hold out as long as possible.

Rose now stood in her upstairs guest room, gazing numbly at her bridal-attired reflection in the mirror. Today was the day, and it was nearly time. Her hair was done in a classic chignon, and she wore a simple but elegant cap sleeved ivory lace sheath. Her wedding dress. She was getting married. To John Smith. A man she had only known a relatively short amount of time. A man she had tried to _steal_ from. A man she should have turned tail from the moment they met and those penetrating brown eyes of his had immediately thrown her off-kilter.

Despite his stated reasons, she still couldn't help but wonder if this was his form of retribution, binding her to the man she had wronged as a form of punishment for her crime. It was the sort of thing she wouldn't put past someone like Saxon or Van Statten. But John Smith? Despite her mind entertaining the repulsive possibility, she didn't actually think that was the case with him. No, as unbelievable as it was to her, he seemed to truly have some sort of…of _feelings_ toward her as his motivation, and that was possibly worse. Worse, because she didn't know how to handle that.

She had started to feel… _something_ toward him before all this, yes. She couldn't deny it. Perhaps she would call it a fledgling sense of friendship that had later caused her to feel guilt over what she had done. But whatever form of…of fondness might have developed, she had never intended to become entangled with a man in _this_ way.

She had avoided this sort of thing rather well up until now and was doing perfectly fine. Now, though, there was no hope of avoidance. It was him or the police, as he had so frankly put it. Those were her only two options. Faced with such a choice, she had said yes. Now here she stood.

Oh, this incomprehensible man and his bloody sense of noble duty, thinking he had to save her from herself. Fine. If he truly wanted her he was about to get her…at least to a certain extent. But if he thought he would be getting a wife in the customary sense, he would soon find out differently.

Rose cast her eyes downward, her arms wrapping around herself in unconscious shielding as she gazed blankly at the floor. Such thoughts were not borne out of bitterness, despite the circumstances. It was simply a fact. Her gaze lifted again to look at her "blushing bride's" reflection. How was she supposed to be someone's _wife_ with…all that it entailed? She could only hope John would honor his word of doing this on a sort of trial basis. She might not need to be concerned about that, though. Once he came to know her a bit more…personally, he would very likely end it himself.

Rose turned away from the mirror altogether. Sometimes she wished she could just be like everyone else, be able to feel the same as everyone else, be able to allow herself to simply _feel_ …without unexplainable fears and hang-ups engulfing her. But this was who she was. And this was whom John Smith would soon wed, for better and most certainly for worse.

Reaching atop the dressing table for a sheet of embossed ivory paper, Rose read from what felt like a script. Her vows. She had chosen the simplest form to recite in order to recall it without difficulty when the time came. But could she _mean_ it? That was another matter altogether.

Rose mentally stiffened her lip and squared her shoulders. Well, she couldn't say she'd never gotten herself tangled up in reckless plans before. She would just have to count this mad turn of events as another on a growing list. It wasn't like she was one to turn away from a challenge. She would bravely confront today, and then…well… She honestly didn't know how she would confront what would come _after_ today, but one step at a time.

There was a soft knock on the door, bringing Rose out of her anxious reverie.

"Umm…come in," she called.

The door opened to reveal Wilfred on the other side. He stepped into the room, looking quite dapper in a dark charcoal suit and champagne tie, a warm smile lighting his aged face. "Oh, look at you. You look just like a proper angel, sweetheart."

Rose felt her face flush at the undeserved compliment. If he only knew. "Hardly. And I'm not really…done up in anything too fancy. I thought…y'know…just keep it simple. It's nothing much, really." As she spoke, her hands self-consciously smoothed down her dress.

He waved his hand, as if patently dismissing such a notion with a mere flick of his wrist. "Nonsense. Why, if I were a few decades younger, John just might have a competition on his hands," the old man teased, giving her a cheeky wink that made her blush deepen. "Not that I'd stand much of a chance, mind you," he went on. "He's properly smitten, he is. And that goes for the way I've seen you looking at _him_ , too."

Rose cast about for a reply, not quite knowing what to say to that.

Wilfred's tone grew more serious as he stepped closer and reached out for her hand. "Have a seat with me a minute, eh?"

Rose took his hand and nodded, turning with him to sit on the chaise lounge across from the dressing table.

"You and me, we haven't really had much of a chance to chat, have we? Young people are always in such a hurry these days…," he trailed off. "Still, even though this is all a bit quick, I want you to know I'm glad he's found you. You're good for him. I can see that. But you should know that John…he…well, he's not quite like other people. I'm sure you've already seen that about him."

"He's…sort of different, yeah," Rose agreed, which was true. She had never known anyone quite like Dr. John Smith, even before he'd presented this frankly mad idea. For some reason she had the feeling Wilfred was alluding to something more, though.

"Oh, that he is," Wilfred chuckled. His gaze grew earnest. "He doesn't always realize just how much." He cleared his throat and lightened his tone. "That's the way with those genius types, eh? But if a life with him is what you intend to have, you should know there may be…unexpected things along the way. That's…well, it's just the sort of thing that comes with someone like him. But I can also tell you that whatever the whole barmy universe might throw your way, a man like that is still worth it."

Rose knit her brows together. She didn't quite understand everything he was trying to say, and Wilfred was a bit eccentric himself. But she supposed she got the gist of it – John was a good man, if unconventional. She could only hope so. She was about to put her very uncertain future in his hands.

"Now then!" Wilfred stood. Rose joined him, and he wrapped her hand around his arm, giving it a pat with the other. "I believe it's just about time for you to make your entrance and take a certain man's breath away. I know it goes a bit against tradition, but since there's no one else to do the honor I'd be proud to escort you."

Rose was unexpectedly touched by this, and the idea made her feel a little less lost in this whole thing. "I…yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

If Wilfred noticed her hand shaking, she hoped he'd just chalk it up to typical wedding day jitters.

-:-:-:-

The formal parlor was adorned with an elegant scattering of pink and white peonies in tall arrangements, forming the border of a makeshift aisle down the center of the room. The furniture had been removed to accommodate neat little rows of white folding chairs on either side of said aisle for the small gathering of guests.

John took his place to the right of the presiding minister, the only two currently standing at the front. Rose had not assigned anyone to serve as her bridal party, so he took none for himself as the groom. He stood there, nervously fidgeting with the lapels of his tux and subtly shifting from foot to foot in his matching black Chucks, still wondering if this was actually happening. Still wondering if Rose would actually go through with it. He glanced around at the handful of guests – Jackson and his wife Caroline, Sarah Jane and her son Luke, and Reinette – all occupying the front row. All but the latter were smiling warmly. He would have some difficult explaining to do if this all fell apart and Rose failed to appear.

A rush of adrenaline and relief flooded his system as Rose Tyler rounded the corner a moment later on the arm of Wilfred. His eyes were riveted to her as she approached, his whirling emotions going into overdrive. Was he doing the right thing? Was he absolutely mad? Would Rose come to love or utterly despise him?

Despite doing this to protect her from herself and the authorities, hoping he could help her turn her life around, he knew his feelings in the whole matter ran dangerously deeper. Dangerous, because so much was on the line when hearts were involved.

It was possible this whole thing surprised him as much as her. This, quite honestly, wasn't like him. He tended to shield himself – his heart. Much like Rose, he suspected. But that was also part of the pull. He understood and could relate to her, to a certain extent. There was a great deal he still didn't know about her past life and her inner conflicts. But he _did_ know, or at least intuitively sensed, that beneath her guarded exterior was a heart that drew his.

He couldn't fully explain it. He couldn't really rationalize it. Love was often that way, he supposed. It didn't always follow logic or present a predictable outcome. As such, there were no guarantees. He had already learned that once. He couldn't be sure this wasn't going to be the biggest mistake he had ever made. He did know, however, that if he let this woman walk out of his life she would undoubtedly ruin hers. To say nothing of his own regret. Mad as this idea was, it was worth chancing. _She_ was worth chancing.

Wilfred now handed her off with a smile and a peck on the cheek. Her emotions were unreadable, her face carefully neutral as Rose took her place beside her husband-to-be. This had all come together so quickly, and under the circumstances he had not expected Rose to plan the details. So when the minister was selected John had handled the particulars and stated a preference for a simple ceremony with minimal frills and fuss. He had, however, chosen a more personalized vow for himself. He was no Casanova and wasn't exactly adept when it came to romantic gestures, but he'd managed to piece together a few words that he could only hope Rose might take to heart.

Rose's eyes, that had only flicked to his a couple of times, now looked to the minister as the clergyman spoke. "We have come together today to witness the joining together of this man and this woman as they exchange their vows of marriage. I call upon them now to state their promise before this group: the pledges that will bind them together. John?"

John breathed deeply, taking Rose's hands in his. His eyes found hers, and her gaze finally fixed to him as he spoke with sincerity.

"I, John, take you, Rose, to be my wife, loving what I know of you and trusting what I don't, because the essence of who you are is a woman worthy of commitment. I'm eager for the chance to grow together, getting to know what we will become. I promise to be faithful to you through whatever life may bring us. I promise to care for you and I will try in every way to be a worthy husband. I will always be honest with you, patient, and forgiving, knowing I'm not above needing the same. And through it all, I promise to be a true and loyal friend to you." He paused, staring fixedly into her eyes. "I love you, Rose, for as long as we both shall live."

A crosscurrent of emotions swirled in her eyes, creating a churning of moisture on the verge of spilling over. Whether they be tears of joy or emotional conflict he wasn't sure.

"The ring, please," the minister prompted with a smile.

John produced the ring newly purchased for her. He lifted her hand and prepared to slide the gold band in place as he spoke the traditional binding words, words he could only hope would prove lasting. "With this ring, I thee wed."

Their joined hands trembled. John wasn't sure if he was the one shaking or if it was her, but he gave Rose's hand a squeeze of reassurance in either case.

"Rose?" she was then cued by the minister.

Even though Rose had agreed to this and had come this far, he still had doubts of whether she would actually complete this. So when she opened her mouth and began to speak, he felt a fraction of the tension ease. He hung on her every word, no matter how simple and unembellished.

"I, Rose, take you, John, to…to be my husband, to have from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part."

The last was spoken on a rush, and he felt a brief constricting sensation in his chest, wondering if this would indeed be a temporary alliance between them. Within the vow, Rose had not pledged her love, John noted. In truth, he did not want it as any sort of expected platitude. He wanted to gain it, to _earn_ it. And he could only hope he would.

"The ring, please," prompted the minister once again.

Expelling a shaky breath, Rose placed a matching gold band on John's finger, sliding it past his fourth knuckle with the weighted words, "With this ring, I…I thee wed."

"Inasmuch as you, Rose and John, have committed yourselves to one another with the exchanging of vows and by the giving and receiving of rings, I now pronounce that you are husband and wife." The minister smiled. "You may now kiss the bride."

Time itself seemed to slow as John's entire focus fell to Rose. The origins of her emotions were still unreadable, but her expression had noticeably tensed. Her tongue flicked across her lips and his eyes automatically traced the pink, moist path. Tenderly, hoping to reaffirm his words through actions, John lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, a chaste kiss that nonetheless made his stomach swoop.

He pulled back and looked in her eyes just as hers blinked wide open. In unison, both swallowed hard.

-:-:-:-

The reception, like the ceremony, had been short and sweet. The new couple was soon on their way to begin a South Seas honeymoon cruise, leaving behind no small amount of chatter. Everyone who knew John was talking. Talking about the marriage that had come out of the blue to the woman that no one knew anything about and who didn't even have a single family member or friend at the ceremony. The whole affair baffled some and incensed others.

Namely, Reinette.

She had disapproved of Rose from the start, but it went far beyond that now. As she watched the newlyweds depart from Gallifrey Manor, it seemed her plans of one day landing John as her own were now utterly dashed.

Or were they?

There was more to all this than was being let on, she just knew. There was something that just didn't add up. Who _was_ Rose? Why such a hasty marriage? And why go this far with a woman when John had scarcely even looked twice at anyone since Joan? For the most part, he had certainly played the confirmed bachelor when it came to Reinette's _own_ attempts.

These questions swirled about in the young woman's mind in the days following the wedding, and Reinette was determined to find answers. Soon after John and the new Mrs. Smith's departure, she set about doing just that.

Wilfred had stepped out one evening, the daft old man no doubt up the back hill with his telescope again, she thought derisively, and she was left with a clear path to do a bit of digging. Letting herself into John's downstairs study, she riffled through the stacks of papers on his desk. She had no idea what she was looking for, if anything, but it was a starting point. As it happened, she came upon something that raised even more questions.

In sifting through the various documents, she found a checklist of sorts for the wedding, tucked away in John's ledger and written in his distinctive swirling scrawl. Amongst the list of necessities to tend to before the wedding was one peculiarity:

 _Pay off Saxon._

Reinette had no idea what the entry meant, but she was going to make it her goal to find out.


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N** The "honeymoon" begins. There is speculation of past assault mentioned in this chapter, nothing at all graphic, but fair warning.

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Like the rolling waves of the sea upon which she was about to sail, Rose's emotions churned wildly as she boarded the luxury cruise ship and entered the private suite she and John would be sharing together for the next two weeks. The wedding complete, they were now to embark upon fourteen days and nights of "wedded bliss," sailing to Miami and from there to the Caribbean. Their honeymoon. They were now married.

Try as she might to tell herself this was a temporary measure, Rose hadn't felt quite the same ever since hearing the words, "I now pronounce you…" She kept darting glances down to the ring encircling her finger, astonished by the startling realization that this whole thing had actually happened.

John was, at least for the time being, her husband.

And she was his wife.

And now there would be certain expectations. Expectations specific to a honeymoon.

As Rose's apprehensive gaze flitted about the suite, she realized John had spared no expense when it came to this trip. Their accommodation aboard the luxury liner greeted its guests with an air of opulence – from the crystal finery adorning the wet bar to the lavish cream carpeting that pillowed one's feet in cushy decadence. To say nothing of the spacious interior, boasting a generous-sized lounge with fully stocked kitchenette, and a separate bedroom with a king-sized bed draped in sumptuous white linens, the sight of which momentarily halted her gaze. Both spacious rooms were made to feel even larger thanks to the entire portside wall made of floor-to-ceiling glass and overlooking the sea. Unfortunately, the illusion of space was just that. Rose was now in _very_ close quarters with a man expecting to commence…marital activities.

He had made attempts to be jovial – even enthusiastic – as they'd left the wedding reception and traveled to Southampton's bustling port where they would make their departure. He'd nattered on about the history of sea travel, the technical aspects of steam engines versus gas turbines versus…well, she'd lost track at that point. Her mind was rather preoccupied.

The closer they'd come to the port, the more her anxiety had swelled. The thought of what lay ahead, knowing what was now expected, caused a familiar fear to seize her in its unrelenting grip. Yet beneath that fear lay something else. Something unexpected. Something that made her stomach flutter pleasantly at the thought of just…being with John.

She had come to truly enjoy spending time with him before all this. He had made her feel…well, she still couldn't define it. But being with him sometimes made her momentarily forget about everything else, caught up in chatting about the significant and the mundane, bantering so easily, and just enjoying each other's company.

But things between them had changed considerably now, taking on a new intensity. Yet not every aspect of that was as unsettling as she might have anticipated. Rose kept hearing the echo of John's recent words. His vow. Had he really meant such things? Did he really feel that way? That strongly? He had professed his feelings to her once before, but hearing it put in such a way – so solemn and binding – had unexpectedly affected her. As he had stood before her, eyes earnest and words equally so, it really _had_ felt almost as if he was giving a part of himself to her alone.

And yet, how could she just happily accept it? How were they supposed to pretend to have anything that resembled normal? She knew what simply being close to a man did to her, and that wasn't something about her nature that she had the ability to change. As they'd departed the reception to embark on this trip, John instinctually keeping her hand in his as if two halves of a whole, Rose had entertained fleeting notions that maybe, _maybe_ it could be different with him. But as soon as the thought came, she thought of all it would entail, and longstanding fears gripped her again, dragging her back down to reality. She could try explaining it all to him, but how? She _couldn't_ explain it.

In her early teens, Rose had once tried to confide in her mum about this, but her mum had brushed it aside, telling her to consider herself lucky she felt that way, that she was better off and it would keep her out of trouble. Rose didn't always feel better off. But what was she to do? So she had simply learned to shield herself.

That shield was a little easier to take shelter behind in this situation, labeled as Justifiable Distance, despite the growing…fondness she might have felt toward John prior to all this. After all, who did this man think he was, interfering so profoundly in her life? Why did he think it was his responsibility? And why did he have to take things _this_ far? And now he expected her to be his in every sense? It was easy to nurture a growing root of bitterness over this whole thing if she allowed it. Fear inflamed her anger, and anger was an emotion that was safe. It made her strong and bold and untouchable.

Untouchable.

Distance was her only option in making it through this, she knew. But how she was going to achieve that in a situation like _this_ she didn't yet know.

-:-:-:-

John took careful note of Rose's reaction as she entered their suite, anxiously gauging how she would take to their surroundings and the situation as a whole. She was silent in her pensive perusal, not glancing about in curiosity or delight but apprehension. Her apprehension was evident in the tense set of her shoulders and wide, darting eyes. She seemed almost afraid. Afraid of what they had just gotten themselves into, no doubt.

That was understandable, considering they had taken a rather momentous step. He had questioned the sanity of this plan more than once himself. Still, they just needed time. Time to get to know each other on a deeper level, to build trust, to draw close – all the things he hoped these days and nights alone together would achieve. And of course, there was the physical intimacy he desired with her as well. Very much. But one step at a time.

Noting her stiff, closed-off body language, he realized she was no doubt still angry with him for catching her at her own game and hoping to reform her ways, seeing it as entrapment instead. But once she truly came to understand his motives, he hoped her passion that manifested as ire would be redirected to more…pleasant passions.

"So…? What do you think of the suite?" John prompted, hoping to at least get her talking to him.

Rose's gaze had trailed to the bedroom, but her eyes darted back to the more neutral territory of the lounge as she spoke. "It's…bigger than most, I s'pose."

"But not big enough?" he couldn't help but ask aloud.

She opened her mouth to reply, paused, then closed it and just shrugged.

"So… I suppose this is where I'm to pounce on you like an ape now that we're alone," he said mildly, hoping to lighten the mood as he took a few steps across the room.

Her head whipped around at this remark. "Is that your plan?" Her challenging reply was spoken in a voice that faltered just enough to make him wonder if she really _did_ think so.

He slid his hands into his pockets, flashing his best cheeky grin. "Oh, of course. But I think I can restrain myself for at least…ohhh…five minutes?"

She didn't see the humor in his words, her face draining of color instead as she changed the subject. "I…I've got so much to do. Gotta get unpacked, and whatnot."

"The porters can take care of that."

Rose shook her head. "No, I don't want anyone waiting on me hand and foot like some posh snob. And shouldn't we get a schedule or something so we know when meals are served? And–"

"Hey," he gently cut her off, stepping closer. "We have time. Lots and lots of time to just…get settled. All you have to do is just relax and start enjoying yourself, okay?"

"Enjoying myself," she repeated on a dull murmur, and he desperately hoped those were not tears causing the sudden sheen in her eyes. "Like I said, I've gotta unpack."

With that, Rose brushed past and into the bedroom.

John drew a weighted breath. He didn't know how to warm through Rose's frosty exterior that was growing colder by the minute. So far the only thing that seemed to exist between them in this relationship was tension. And _not_ the good kind that was pleasantly resolved. Still, they were both just trying to find their footing here, and like he'd said to her, they had time.

Following her cue, John joined her in the unpacking, figuring they could at least share _something_ together. Yet they went about their respective tasks in uncomfortable silence. Going into this rather unconventionally, John was realistic and hadn't expected sun and rainbows from here on out, but he had hoped they could at least begin as friends. But even _that_ seemed out of reach at the moment. He mulled over the current situation and the ways he might begin to at least reach some kind of understanding with his new wife.

His wife.

Part of him wanted to throw open the balcony doors and proclaim it to the entire ship. The other part of him wondered, yet again, if he had properly lost it. Yet he still believed he had done the right thing in a situation where the woman he had come to love was in obvious need of help and there was no easy, perfect answer. Rose needed someone. That was clear. And the justice system wasn't going to meet that need, nor did he want to see her life irreparably marred by a criminal conviction for having made some _very_ misguided choices.

It didn't take a psychologist to guess that, for whatever the reason may be, she was a woman deprived of love, taking whatever she _could_ get instead. He wanted to give her the love that had been missing in her life, the understanding, the compassion which he so hoped would bring about a change in her. She said she had no one. Well, not anymore. And it wasn't exactly a sacrifice on his part. He loved this woman. Heaven help him, he truly did.

The only trouble now was finding a way to demonstrate that, considering she wouldn't so much as look in his direction at the moment. Her attitude toward this was apparent. She still saw this as him trying to trap her, when in reality he wanted to free her. He wanted to free the woman he'd seen glimpses of inside. Despite her current attitude, he still believed she _did_ have feelings for him. If he didn't believe that he wouldn't have even considered taking things this far.

Getting her to allow those feelings to show was another matter, though. They would have to work up to that. Maybe a candlelight dinner tonight? Wine and soft music? Dancing or a moonlit stroll on the deck? All those romantic gestures women tended to appreciate. Then they would come back to their suite and he would _show_ her just how he felt, how much he desired her, what she did to him, how simply being within ten feet of her made his head spin.

His idyllic plans were all well and good, but step one was to end this oppressive silence. As the last items were unpacked and tucked away, John turned to her, clearing his throat to get her attention. She still wouldn't look at him.

"Well, that's the unpacking done. Would you like to dine in tonight or enjoy something more formal? I thought perhaps we could–"

"I'm tired," Rose said, eyes drifting off to gaze out at the endless expanse of sea, seeming to swallow up the sun as the last of the day's light sank below the watery surface. "I'd like to just…go to sleep early." She looked pointedly at him then. "That is, if I'm _allowed_ to do that."

John frowned but refrained from being baited into an argument at the get-go. "Of course. If that's what you'd like. It's been…an eventful day."

She nodded once, then looked away again.

He raked a hand through his hair and stepped closer. "Rose, I understand that you're not exactly overjoyed by all this right now. But I hope in time you'll–"

"I'm gonna change," she cut him off, turning toward the closet she had just filled. She removed her nightclothes and ducked into the en-suite.

He sighed. As wedding nights went, this wasn't exactly off to a stellar start.

John loosened his tie and moved toward the glassed-in side of the suite, sliding open the balcony doors and stepping out onto the private deck. He leaned his forearms on the rail, filling his lungs with a deep pull of crisp, salty air as he contemplated how to proceed from here.

He needed to be more demonstrative, he realized; more open with his affections to begin showing her how much he not only desired her but cherished her. Rose wasn't a conquest. She was a woman who deserved to be loved. It didn't matter if she was flawed and this entire situation was backwards. The past no longer mattered. Only the future.

Lost in thought, nearly a half hour had passed before he heard Rose re-emerge from the en-suite. He turned as she stepped back into the bedroom. Her hair was combed out, face free of makeup, and body shrouded in a formless flannel sleep set, the top buttoned nearly up to her neck and the long loose bottoms touching her toes. That, he deduced, was an unspoken message. But it was far from an effective deterrent. She was still gorgeous to him.

If all he did was hold her tonight, her soft, warm body nestled against his, he could hardly complain. It might be torturous to be so close yet so far, but the closeness would be worth it even still. And then in the morning, once she'd had a chance to rest from this whirlwind of a day and begin processing this new situation, he pictured waking her with a declaration of his affections followed by a thorough demonstration, making slow, languorous love to her by the soft light of dawn as it spilled into the room and bathed their entwined bodies in its warmth.

John swallowed thickly. _Blimey_ …he was going to have to tame his thoughts. Otherwise he just _might_ pounce like an ape.

He crossed the room toward her, voice low and gentle as he tried to put into words the conclusions he'd reached while waiting for her.

"Rose, we can start over, the two of us. This very night. We can put the past behind us and move forward. I want a future with you. The past doesn't matter to me." He reached out and touched her shoulder. She flinched slightly, eyes wide and body stiff, but didn't withdraw from him. "I love you. _Let_ me love you. When you're ready I intend to show you just how much you mean to me." His body shifted closer, fingers trailing down her arm as his face slowly lowered toward hers. "Rose," he whispered across her lips. "My wild Rose…"

Their mouths met in the softest of greetings, his lips feathering over hers. For one instant, one blissful moment of time he actually felt her respond to him, felt her body fractionally relax as her lips moved oh so gently against his in a timeless, instinctive rhythm.

Oh, he was done for. A husky growl emitted from his throat as his arms encircled her, drawing her flush against him. Instantaneously, it was as if something else entirely overtook her. He felt her inhale sharply, her breath drawn directly from his own lungs, then before he could quite register what was happening she was pushing him away, her hands scrabbling wildly at his chest.

"No! S-stop! Just…just stop! _Please_! I can't do this! I just _can't_! I thought that maybe I…thought that maybe I could just…and then I…but I can't. I-I can't even _breathe_!" Her last outcry was accompanied by another wild shove against him.

"Rose! It's all right," he tried to assure her, catching her wrists to stop her assault on his chest.

She struggled all the harder at this, her eyes wide and panicked. "Lemme go! G-get away from me! P-please! Please just…don't touch me! _Don't_!"

He immediately released her, and she lunged backwards, pressing herself into the corner.

He took a cautious step toward her, requiring all his effort to keep his voice calm and steady. "Rose? Rose, please. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

"You will if you touch me!" she shrieked again, now sinking down into a crouch and curling in on herself.

He abruptly halted, lifting his hands in a non-threatening manner. "I won't. I won't touch you. I promise. Just…just calm down. Please. It's all right." He backed up, giving her more space. "Rose, you're safe. Just…just relax. Breathe. That's it. Everything's okay. Just…relax and come sit down." He indicated the wingback chair across from the bed.

Her breathing was rapid and shallow as she struggled to calm herself. Finally, breath still coming in short gasps, she unglued herself from the wall and took a tentative step forward. He backed up again, giving her plenty of room.

Cautiously, she moved toward the chair and sank down, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso, her eyes darting between him and the bedroom door.

John heaved out a breath, utterly bewildered. He'd never seen anyone react like that to a kiss. Not to boast, but certainly not a woman in regards to his affections. It reminded him so much of her reaction to the storm. But he was hardly a thunderous threat worthy of triggering a bloody _panic attack_. He'd been going out of his way for her at every turn here, and this was how he was treated in return? John felt an acute stab of offense at her reaction.

"Is this your subtle way of telling me you find me repulsive?"

"I told you! I told you to just lemme go! I told you not to marry me! Oh my God, why couldn't you have listened? I told you I'm not like other people!"

She was working herself up into a state again. His initial frustration was giving way to serious concern.

"Rose, just calm down. Tell me what's wrong so I can help."

"The only way anyone can help is by leaving me alone! Don't you get that now? I can't stand to be…to be touched. I _can't_!"

John took an unsteady backward step and dropped down on the edge of the bed. The implications of her confession made him suddenly sick. Sick and with the wild urge to murder whoever had made her feel this way. Still, he couldn't just rush to such a serious assumption, needing to first give her the chance to talk this through calmly.

"Do you just feel this way about me, or…anyone?"

"Anyone!" she rasped. "Any man."

"Do you have…other sexual inclinations?"

She puffed out a breath and shook her head. "No. No, that's not it at all. But it's men who make me feel like…like I can't breathe if they get too close."

His brows knit tightly. Why hadn't he seen this kind of reaction before? "But I've…touched you before. Kissed you. That day in the lab, in the stables, at the wedding…"

"I…I was all out of sorts at the lab and couldn't really remember what happened. And the other times I just…just got through it 'cause I knew it wasn't gonna go any further right then. But now you want it to go further and I can't. I just _can't_."

His chest constricted as if squeezed in a vise. He knew she had fears, had witnessed them spring suddenly and unpredictably, but he hadn't realized they might be rooted in something of this nature. What had happened to her? He was very much afraid he knew, and he could not stomach the vile thought. John felt sudden anger at himself and could bloody well kick his own arse for his flippant remark about _pouncing_ on her. No wonder she had paled. And her "wedding night" apparel of flannel armor… She wasn't mocking him. She was _afraid_ of him.

Dear God, who had done this to her? This vibrant, beautiful woman did not deserve to be reduced to this terrified state before him. No one did. He almost choked on the words, but he had to know. "Rose, what happened to you? It's okay. I promise. You can tell me. You can tell me anything."

Her eyes darted away from his, but her voice was surprisingly firm. "Nothing happened to me," she insisted.

He lifted his brows, unconvinced. "I want nothing more than to believe that, but it's a bit difficult under the circumstances."

She kept her eyes down. "I just don't want to be touched, to be handled, to have someone that close with that kind of…intent. It makes me feel like…like I can't think properly or even breathe."

He kept his voice gentle and undemanding, not wanting his questions to cause her to shut down now that she was opening up a little. "How long have you felt this way?"

"As long as I can remember. That's just who I am."

She sounded so resigned to this. He wondered if maybe she really _didn't_ know why she felt this way. That was possibly worse. How could she deal with this if she didn't understand the root cause?

"Rose, you shouldn't have to feel this way. It's not… Well, it's not normal," he gently reasoned.

Her eyes lifted at this, her tone gaining a little strength. "Well, sorry if I don't fit _your_ definition of normal."

"Have you ever talked to anyone about this?" he went on, undeterred.

"You mean a shrink?" she clarified, sounding defensive.

"A psychologist, yes."

"Why? Aren't I at least entitled to my private feelings?"

"It's not a matter of entitlement. It's a matter of not being held back in life by fear. You're entitled to _that_."

"My life was just fine as it was until…," she waved her hands about vaguely, "…all this."

"I would hardly say so," he disagreed. "You were compelled into dangerous activities, and if I hadn't stopped you, you'd have gone on and inevitably been caught. You would have gone to jail or worse, confronted by a man like Saxon. You are an incredibly tempting woman, Rose Tyler. And dare I say your captor likely wouldn't have shown as much…restraint as me, out to claim what he figured belonged to him or to simply exact revenge. Somewhere along the line you would've been cornered by a man who wouldn't take no for an answer. You would've gotten him _and_ prison. That's hardly the definition of doing just fine."

"So instead I got this," she mumbled.

He wasn't going to apologize for that. "You needed help."

"No, I _didn't_ ," she insisted, sounding desperate to convince herself as much as him.

He leaned forward, catching and holding her gaze. "To be honest, I don't think you have a solid perspective on what it is you need. Which, I suspect, is psychiatric help."

She barked a short, sardonic laugh. "Oh, such a typical male! You get rejected and peg the woman as having gone 'round the bend. 'She dares to say no to me? Well, she's gotta be barmy!'" Rose attempted to mock. "It'd be a right laugh if it weren't sickening."

He recognized her attempt at lashing out as a defensive mechanism to keep him at a distance. This was not going to be an easy issue to tackle, and right now she wasn't in a state to try.

John rubbed his eyes and refocused. "All right. Like I said, it's been a long day. Why don't we just…try to get some rest and talk about this in the morning, okay?"

She lowered her head, shaking it slightly. "There's nothing to talk about. I've told you how I feel and that's the end of it. Talking's not gonna change anything."

He puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath. "Fine. Then we won't talk about it until you decide you're ready. But this blissful honeymoon cruise of ours will keep us in rather close proximity for many days _and_ nights. So I suggest we make it easy on ourselves and get through it with as much civility as possible."

Silence stretched on before she finally responded, eyes shifting back to him. "And you won't try to…to…"

"No," he assured her. "I won't touch you in…that way if you don't want me to." Her eyes flicked to the lone bed, her teeth nervously tugging at her lower lip. "You can have the bedroom," he added, in answer to the unspoken but obvious question. "I'll sleep in the lounge."

Rose nodded once and looked down again. When she said nothing further, he turned to walk out. Her soft voice surprised him, temporarily halting his steps.

"John?" He looked back. "I…" She glanced away and shrugged. "I'm sorry for both of us."

Not knowing what to say to that, he just turned and shut the door. It was going to be a very long two weeks.


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N** If you squint you just _might_ find a bit of fluff in this chapter…because we could all use some right about now!

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

Despite the considerable tension between himself and his…wife, the next few days passed as relatively uneventful. That could be taken as either good or bad, John supposed. The situation hadn't utterly dissolved, but neither had it progressed. They were at a stalemate.

He knew they were going to _have_ to deal with this at some point. Try, at least. But Rose clearly wasn't comfortable talking with him about it yet. She wasn't comfortable with him period. He had a better understanding now as to why she felt that way, but that didn't make the situation between them any easier. If he tried to push her to confront this he sensed she would shut down at this stage; shut him out entirely. Right now she wouldn't even admit she had a genuine problem, a defensive strategy she'd no doubt developed long ago. So whatever approach he took in attempting to persuade her to eventually face this, he was going to have to broach it carefully and when the timing was right.

Until then, John felt at a loss as to how to proceed here and now to simply get through this trip on speaking terms. It was then John recalled his own words. His vow. Among the promises he had made to Rose, one of them was to simply be her friend, come what may. That, he decided, would be his starting point. He would show her that he simply enjoyed being with her, which was true. He wouldn't put pressure on her to open up just yet, nor would he pressure her in regards to the intimacy she so obviously feared. This honeymoon could simply be a holiday of sorts. If it meant their current relationship would look more like best mates than husband and wife, well…at least it would be _some_ form of a relationship. It was a small step, but at least it was a step.

As it happened, this seemed to be the right course of action. After those first tense days and nights of few words and little interaction, giving Rose space and staying true to his promise of not pressuring her for more, she gradually became a little more open to just spending time with him again, finally willing to venture about the ship. Whether she had needed time to rebuild a bit of trust in him, time to move past the possible embarrassment she might have felt over that night, or perhaps a bit of both, either way the tension had eased marginally. She was still distant with him but at least she was _with_ him. They dined together, took in a couple of the evening shows, and spent one afternoon together simply relaxing by the pool.

 _That_ activity had proven itself a challenge to his strictly platonic approach. Rose, reluctant at first, had spent most of the time lounging poolside with a book, an innocent enough activity in theory. But while her one-piece bathing suit had been modest by current standards, it had still taken substantial effort on his part not to stare at the smooth expanse of her long, toned legs. John had plunged himself into the cool water almost immediately out of sheer necessity. If Rose had noticed his struggle not to ogle her, she hadn't called him on it. In fact, he'd even caught her sneaking a couple glances at _him_ as he swam, though her eyes quickly averted back to her book whenever he'd caught her looking. Her flicks of interest could have been nothing more than mild curiosity. Considering she'd never seen him without so much as his jacket, his stripped-down state of mere swim trunks was far outside his norm. In any case, at least he'd had her attention.

It was now nearly a week in, and soon they would be docking in Miami, their first port of call. If Rose enjoyed it, John planned to suggest staying for a bit and arranging to take a later cruise on to the Caribbean in order to give them extra time together. But he wasn't sure how she would respond to the idea of _extending_ their trip just yet, so he decided to wait on that suggestion.

As they made their way along the deck to dinner that night, John found himself taking more notice of the passing couples who were linked hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm, pressed close and murmuring intimately. He had never fancied himself an envious sort of man nor a romantic by nature, but it was hard to resist the desire to at least take the hand of the woman beside him. Rose had seemed comfortable with that level of contact before, and for him it had become second nature. But in light of their recent setback, he had been afraid to push for more, no matter how small the gesture.

Instead he tried to appease himself with the fact that Rose was, at the very least, spending time with him again. Enjoying that bit of consolation, John took his time strolling the deck with her, admiring the view of the stars above casting their lustrous glint on the watery canvas below as the two chatted casually. True, it was John carrying most of the conversation, as he had lately. But this, at least, wasn't a challenge for him. If there was one thing he could do, it was talk.

"Ah, just wait until mid-August," he began to ramble, arms folded over the ship's railing and gaze directed upward at the unobstructed view of the dazzling night sky. "The Perseids will be spectacular this year."

Rose flicked a mildly curious look his way as she rested her hands against the steel railing alongside him, the linen skirt of her casual powder-blue dress flapping gently in the sea breeze. "The what?"

He half-angled toward her. "The Perseids. It's a meteor shower. Oh, please tell me you've seen it before…"

She shook her head. "Don't think so."

John frowned at this. "Really?"

"London isn't the best location for stargazing, I s'pose," Rose said with a shrug.

"Getting out of the city is an absolute must for proper viewing. Luckily I know all of the celestial hot spots," he winked.

She breathed out what could have been a soft laugh, and he thought it a gorgeous sound. "I bet you do."

Feeling himself grin, he redirected his eyes to the twinkling pinpricks of light overhead. "Oh, you're going to be in for a treat, Rose Tyler-Smi–"

He saw her head jerk toward him in his periphery, and he didn't quite finish the merging of names forming all-too naturally on his tongue.

John cleared his throat and went on, both their gazes returning to the escape of the stars. "I always look forward to August for that very reason. Brilliant streaks of light blazing across the sky at up to a hundred per hour – amazing! And to think it's all the result of otherwise insignificant bits of debris from a passing comet. Swift-Tuttle, in this case. You might think the shower would bear the same name, but its designation actually comes from the constellation Perseus, because the perceived direction of the shower appears in the same location. Now _there's_ an interesting constellation. Named after the Greek hero, of course, and surrounded by all of the related legends – Andromeda, Cassiopeia, Pegasus and so forth… Notably, the constellation contains the Demon Star, one of the brightest and best known eclipsing binaries, and said to represent the eye of Gorgon Medusa of Greek mythology." He paused. "It's incidentally thought to be one of the unluckiest stars, so best not wish on it." He realized Rose was staring at him and not the sky. "What?"

She made that sound again – the lighthearted one that lightened his own. "You can't half ramble, you know that?"

John schooled his features in mock-affront. "I think we've previously established that I do _not_ ramble. I impart valuable and impressive knowledge."

"In your case that's rambling," she rejoined.

Maybe it was a fool's hope, but he was quite sure he detected a note of humor in her tone. His lips twitched with the effort to keep from grinning back at her like the besotted fool that he was. "But do you agree that my knowledge is nonetheless valuable? To say nothing of impressive?"

Rather than respond with another quip, she cocked her head quizzically. "How come you know so much about stars and space stuff, anyway?"

It wasn't the compliment he'd teasingly fished for, but she was expressing a genuine interest in him, no matter how small. He turned around so his back was to the railing, elbows propped on the cool white steel as he faced outward toward her. "Oh, it's been a favorite interest of mine for years. As long as I can remember, actually. My first hobby, if you will." He paused, caught by the way the silver moonlight reflected in her golden hair. "I can't wait to take you stargazing with me," he murmured, eyes dipping to follow the motion of her throat as she swallowed. "I know just the place…"

She bit her lower lip, averting her gaze. The wall was going back up again. "We'll say this counts and check it off the list, yeah?"

Rose turned away from the rail, walked a few paces and took a seat in one of the white deck chairs. He breathed deeply and followed her, folding his long limbs down into the chair beside her.

"Rose–"

"What happens when we get back?" she broke in, tugging her skirt down over her knees then wrapping her arms around them.

He scratched at the back of his neck, considering his response. Such a question had several possible answers. Before trying to reply, he thought it best to find out what _she_ had in mind. "What do you mean?"

She sighed and shook her head. "Have you even thought about it? And not just…not just the stuff between you and me. There's everything else, too. I mean…I don't exactly fit in with your lifestyle. You're rich and successful. You started your _own_ corporation. Can't imagine who you must hobnob with. Me? I'm a council chav, not some socialite. I can just see me trying to fit in at those fancy parties and posh events with those society types. Everyone you know will see right through me for what I am."

John angled closer, leaning his forearms on his knees. "What you _are_ is a clever, beautiful woman." She glanced down, but he went on. "A woman who's made mistakes, granted. But there isn't a person in this universe who hasn't. So just try to let those 'society types' throw stones. They'll bounce right back. As for fitting in…," he crooked a wry grin, "I have no doubt you can charm the pants off anyone you meet. And yes, I do have to participate in those, frankly dry and boring, events from time to time. But with you there that sort of thing might actually be bearable for me."

He leaned a bit closer. "Rose, look at me." With reluctance, she lifted her eyes back to his. "You're going to bring a breath of new life. Not just to stuffy society functions. But to my home. To my life. All I ask is that you give this…us…a fair chance. I don't expect it to happen overnight, and I'm not putting any time constraints on you. But I hope in time you'll at least be open to giving it a proper chance."

"I…" Rose breathed in deeply. "I can't make any promises right now."

He glanced down at his hands, nodding as he idly twisted the gold band encircling his finger. "I know."

"'Cause I honestly don't know if things could change."

By "things," he knew she was referring to herself. But he wasn't going to give up on her, on them, so soon. "It's early yet. This is all still new for both of us. So I'm only going to ask you to make one promise right now."

Her voice and expression turned wary. "What's that?"

John gave her a tiny smile. "Still join me for dinner?"

Breathing out, Rose flickered a small smile of her own. "Yeah."

-:-:-:-

John had requested seating on the outside balcony of the formal dining room, their table for two overlooking the dark, rippling velvet of the sea. Soft music from inside drifted through the night air, a live jazz band performing for the listening pleasure of the diners as well as those taking advantage of the dance floor within.

Maybe it was wishful thinking on John's part, but Rose finally seemed a little more relaxed in comparison to previous nights. Perhaps their talk on the deck had gotten through to her on some level. She even offered a tiny smile in his direction when he caught her eye as the main course was served. Her eyes were still guarded every time she looked his way, but he sensed that maybe, just maybe she was letting that guard ease just a fraction.

He kept the conversation light, chatting about favorite foods and the superiority of bananas versus the reproach of pears, even getting a chuckle out of her when he demonstrated through facial expressions the mere thought of the detestable taste upon his tongue.

As they finished the main course and awaited dessert, John decided to take a small risk and finally push the established boundaries just a little, tonight seeming like his best chance yet. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

He took a sip of his wine, lowered the glass and cleared any uncertainty from his throat. "Rose?"

She looked up at him, lowering her own glass of crisp chardonnay. "Hmm?"

He tilted his head toward the inner dining room. "Would you…care to dance?"

Rose hesitated, eyes tracking over to the nearby glass partition, beyond which lay the dance floor where couples swayed in unison, holding each other in a close embrace.

"I'm not much of a dancer," she deferred, eyes falling back to her drink, absently rimming her finger around the circumference.

Perhaps it was asking too much too soon, considering how she felt about any sort of physical intimacy. But she had the security of being surrounded by other people, the fact that he seemed to have regained a small bit of her trust at this point, and the knowledge that in this case dancing was _just_ dancing. They had to start somewhere.

"Nor am I," he admitted. "Which makes us a perfect match." Her eyes flicked up. "We're both imperfect and not afraid to admit it." He shrugged. "Besides, it'll give us both good practice for those dull society events we're planning to liven up together." She bit her lip, still hesitating. "But only if you're comfortable."

"I…" She looked again toward the dance floor, seeming to gather her resolve, that Rose Tyler strength he knew she possessed that didn't like backing down from a challenge. "All right. One dance."

Managing to control his enthusiasm and not whoop in delight, John stood and helped her from her chair. Rose stood and, before overthinking it, he offered his hand. Her eyes flicked to his outstretched hand. There was a moment's hesitation, making it feel like a small victory when she slid her warm palm into his. He squeezed gently, reassuringly, and led the way inside.

John was still adjusting to this reticent side of her. The woman he had first come to know had been so poised and self-assured. He knew, however, that a large part of her inhibitions were due to this current situation. She suddenly found herself in the unexpected position of being a new bride on a honeymoon. Having learned of her fierce aversion to intimacy, it was no wonder she seemed off-balanced by this whole thing. He _had_ to gain more of her trust here. She had to get to know him – get comfortable with him all over again. Hopefully this was a small start.

They walked past the meticulous maze of linen draped tables, finally reaching the dance floor on the outer skirts of the room. Pressing forward, they wove in and out of the swaying couples as they found an open space where they would not be crowded. The slow, rich tones of "Moonlight Serenade" crooned in their ears as they released hands and turned to face each other in the low light.

John's hand reached for hers again, this time sliding up until their palms were pressed flat and their fingers interlocked. He stepped closer – close enough to be practical to their purpose but careful not to crowd her – and placed a light hand on the feminine concavity of her waist.

"If I smash your toes to smithereens, I hereby give you permission to do likewise to mine," he quipped, trying to keep this comfortable for her by lightening the mood.

"Fair enough," Rose said, clearing her throat. Then, tentatively, she raised her left hand to his right shoulder and let it rest there.

Even through his pinstriped layers he could feel the warmth of her hand upon him, penetrating through to his skin. He longed to pull her closer, to feel her full body pressed to his. Remembering the disastrous results the last time he'd done something like that, John forced himself to maintain a distance she was more comfortable with.

He gave her a warm smile. She returned it with a look of uncertainty.

"Like so…," he murmured. With the gentle guiding of his hand on her waist, they began to move, awkwardly at first, both trying to find and establish a rhythm. Both were stiff in their unpracticed movements, further encumbered by weighted tension.

At first Rose kept her eyes directed downward, though not entirely out of reticence. She had to watch her feet thanks to a couple of close calls by both of them. After a few minutes of awkwardness, they began to adjust to the slow beat and fell into a modest rhythm.

"We'll get the hang of this yet, eh?" he spoke encouragingly, the words referencing more than just the dancing.

"At least one of us thinks so," she mumbled.

After another moment or two of silence, John spoke up again. "You don't just have to become some sort of society hostess, you know?"

Rose shrugged, her fingers shifting a little on his shoulder as she glanced back down at her feet. "What else would I do?"

He didn't mention a possible return to TARDIS Corporation just yet. That was a tricky topic and represented one of the issues they still needed to move past. Plus, he didn't want her to see it as her only option.

"Anything," he settled on in response. She met his eyes then. "You can do anything, Rose. What is it that interests you?"

There was a long pause. "I…I dunno."

"Well, there's horses," he prompted. "Training? Breeding? Showing? Don't forget we have the stables at Gallifrey at your disposal."

Rose's eyes brightened for a fraction of a moment, then grew dull along with her resigned tone. "Gotta have experience and skills for that sort of thing. I don't have either. All I've ever done is ride."

"Or even veterinary medicine?" he continued, undaunted.

She snorted. "Without so much as A-Levels?"

"Well, no. But you can study and get there." A look passed over her face, as if she had never considered it a possibility; as if she never thought it _could_ be a possibility for her. "Like I said, you can do anything."

Rose looked at him then. _Really_ looked at him, as if his words held the weight of the universe. "What makes you think so?"

"You're clever, resourceful, and don't back down from a challenge," he answered without hesitation. In a quieter voice he added, "I believe in you."

She dipped her eyes, but a ghost of a smile lifted her features. "I think you're daft."

"Possibly…probably. That's nothing new. But I'm not wrong about you. And…hold on…was that a smile?"

She straightened her features and shook her head. "No."

"I think it was…," he wheedled.

"I only smiled 'cause you're daft."

"Ah-ha! You _did_ smile." His own grin sobered. "For the record, it's a very good look on you. I hope to see it again sometime."

As they had talked, their bodies had relaxed and drifted closer, his hand now resting on the small of her back, their hips grazing once or twice as they moved. When the tune came to an end, they both realized their proximity.

Rose cleared her throat, let her hand slip from his shoulder and made to step back.

John released his hold around her, but kept her hand in his a moment longer. He raised it to brush a delicate kiss across her knuckles before releasing.

"Thank you for the dance, Rose."

He could only hope the flush that bloomed across her cheeks was a _good_ sign.


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N** For those familiar with the original story, you'll note a change here. Whereas this point in the original contained a scene of implied non-con, this story will take an alternate route for several reasons. For one, it wouldn't fit the character of John Smith and would also make him very difficult to redeem (something the original did not do adequately, imo). And perhaps most importantly, it would logically shatter the building of trust, a key element in this story. That said, this chapter is still very tense, boundaries are pushed, and angst runs high. So fair warning.

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

John was riding a hopeful high after his promising evening with Rose, only to be brought back down to reality once they returned to their stateroom. He had hoped they might talk a little more, that maybe once it was just the two of them alone Rose might open up a bit further. But returning to their suite seemed to have the opposite effect.

Her protective walls were back in place, her eyes did not quite meet his and her voice was resigned to the status quo as Rose bid him a quiet goodnight and retreated to the solitude of the bedroom. The bedroom in which John was not trusted nor welcomed.

He breathed deeply, staring at the closed bedroom door. This wasn't Rose's fault, he reminded himself. Something had happened to make her this way, and she was simply coping as best she could. He knew that, and he knew he needed to continue to be patient with her. But that didn't mean it was easy.

Emotions were involved, and that tended to make things messy and complicated, muddying the otherwise clear waters of logic and reason. Logic told him Rose's behavior toward him had little to do with _him_ at all, and everything to do with whatever repressed trauma she had experienced in her past. But his emotions, those notoriously complicated feelings that insisted on dragging his heart into the equation, caused pangs of frustration and hurt to prick him each time he made sincere efforts to take small steps forward, only to earn closed doors and withdrawn demeanor as the end result.

John unweighted his frustrations on a long exhale and turned from the door. He needed to focus on the progress that _had_ been made. They had talked about the future, even if promises had yet to be made. And Rose had taken his hand and allowed him closer than she had all week. For tonight that would have to be enough.

Tugging at the knot in his tie, John headed for his own "bed," the long blue couch stretched across the center of the lounge. He shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over the back of the couch, then sank down, extending one leg as he reclined carelessly across the plush cerulean upholstery.

He didn't feel like changing for bed in a hopeful attempt at sleep. Not yet. His mind was too restless, his thoughts too preoccupied by the events of the evening – by _Rose_ and the closeness they had shared that wasn't close enough by half. Every time he inhaled, he could still detect the lingering sweetness of her scent upon him. Closing his eyes, his mind replayed the brief perfection of her in his arms, the softness and warmth of her body, the hand that fit so perfectly in his, the mesmerizing flecks of gold in her eyes that captivated his own. Having to maintain this distance when everything inside him _ached_ for her was enough to drive away sleep _and_ sanity.

John was no stranger to insomnia. Whenever sleep proved elusive, he usually tinkered with a project or occupied his mind with his journal. Not having his lab within access, John reached for his jacket and rummaged through the extended depths of his inner pocket until his fingers connected with soft, worn leather. Curling his fingers around the familiar book, he drew out his journal.

Thumbing through, John read over a few scribbled equations, scanned the latest project ideas he'd jotted down, and made corrections to recent theories. It was a nocturnal habit of his, though the eclectic entries were not limited to work-related projects, extending to include the details of dreams that had awoken him in the night, or even random sketches of people, places and mythical creatures that sprang from his overactive imagination. His writing wasn't even always in English, his words unconsciously lapsing into other languages he'd studied, a quirk of the eccentric workings of his mind. Such haphazard ramblings might further disquiet the thoughts of some, but for John it had the opposite effect.

He scribbled for an hour or so on upgrade concepts for his sonic scanner prototype in an attempt to settle and order his thoughts. He was finally feeling a little more focused and relaxed when his mind was jerked back to the present by Rose's soft cry from the bedroom.

He was up in an instant, heading for the source of the sound, but he paused as his hand reached for the bedroom door. Should he go straight in? Should he just knock from out here? As he hesitated, he heard it again, a muffled sound of distress coming from the other side, deciding his next move for him.

With care, John opened the door and peered into the darkness. He could just make out Rose's form on the bed, shifting restlessly and whimpering. She was dreaming.

"Rose?" he called out in a soft voice.

"N-no…don't," she slurred in her sleep.

"Rose, are you okay?"

She whimpered again and mumbled something indistinct, then exhaled deeply and shifted to her back. Rose remained asleep, her breathing now slow and even. Whatever had troubled her dreams seemed to have passed. He hoped so. He wouldn't wish nightmares on anyone.

John moved a few steps into the room to be certain she was okay, but his feet promptly halted as she came into clearer view. He just stared for a moment, enraptured by the sight of her. Her features were now relaxed and unguarded, plump lips parted and dark lashes fluttering. The sheet had slipped low on her waist, and the moonlight slanting in through the portside glass illuminated her bare shoulders and the soft skin of her belly where her vest top had ridden up a few alluring inches.

It took all of his willpower to back out of the room and close the door.

John flopped back down on the couch and rubbed at his eyes, as if to banish the forbidden image bent on torturing him. It was no use. Heaving a sigh, he grabbed for the journal again. This time as he put pencil to page he began to sketch, his hand automatically seeking to capture the image that was imprinted on his mind, the picture of Rose surrendered to sleep. With wispy strokes he framed her closed eyelids in a dark feathering of lashes; with a delicate thumb he smoothed the soft curves of her cheeks.

John finished the sketch and simply stared at her, his untouched wife. She was… _gorgeous_. He longed to tell her, to be able to show her, if only he could do so without driving her away.

He looked up upon hearing sounds coming from the bedroom again, but this time it was that of movement. A moment later the door quietly opened and Rose slipped out into the dimly-lit lounge, tying the sash of her white cotton dressing gown. Her hair was mussed and her eyes unfocused from sleep. She was, if possible, even _more_ gorgeous.

Her gaze tracked over to where he was reclined on the couch, seeming surprised when she realized he was awake. Her fingers tightened around her sash. "Oh…umm…hi."

John's voice was a little husky from lack of sleep…and the woman in front of him "Hello."

Rose lifted a self-conscious hand and combed her fingers through her hair. "I didn't know you were still up."

He put the journal aside, mindful of his own rumpled state with jacket gone, tie askew and sleeves haphazardly rolled up his arms. He must've looked a disheveled sight. Maybe that was why she seemed to be staring at him a bit longer than necessary.

"Just doing a bit of writing. Are you all right? I heard you earlier. You were…crying out. I peeked in to check that you were okay but you were still asleep."

She looked away and shuffled through the lounge toward the kitchenette. "Just a dream. I woke up and thought I'd grab a cuppa to make me drowsy again. Chamomile sometimes does the trick." Opting for the quick route, she retrieved a single mug, filled it with water and popped it into the microwave.

John sat up straight, swinging his gangly legs back down to the floor. "Ah, yes. Good ol' chamomile. The apigenin compound helps reduce locomotor activity of the forebrain, while the flavonoids and coumarins have a natural calming effect."

She paused and glanced over her shoulder at him. Right. He was rambling again.

"I'm just glad it works," she said with a shrug, turning back around to remove her mug from the microwave and dunk her teabag into the steaming cup.

Now that she was up he hoped she might stay for a bit, yearning simply for her company. John was trying to think of a casual way to invite her to sit with him when she turned, already preparing to retreat.

"Well…g'night," Rose said, flicking her eyes to his for the briefest moment.

Tamping down disappointment, he mustered a smile in its place. "Sleep well, Rose."

She hesitated, biting her lower lip as she regarded him a moment longer. He held her stare briefly before she glanced down.

"What is it?"

Rose shrugged, gaze flicking back up. "Just…do you sit up this late every night?"

"Most nights this week, yes. I read. Or sketch. It helps pass the time."

She took a tiny sip of her tea. "Why don't you just…go to sleep?"

Honestly? Was she baiting him? "The couch, for all of its lovely visual appeal, isn't the most comfortable," he replied evenly. "Among other things…"

Rose lowered her mug, voice quiet. "No, I s'pose not."

"But I'm trying to make do," he finished. He didn't intend to make her feel guilty but he wasn't going to deny the situation, either.

"Aren't we all?" Rose mumbled. She drew in a breath. "But we don't have to just…make do." Hope flared within him, only to be extinguished as quickly as it came. "Oh, this is ridiculous, John," Rose exclaimed, setting her mug down on the end table nearest her. "How much longer are we gonna keep this up? It's nothing more than a charade and it's uncomfortable for both of us."

Her hope-shattering words inflamed emotions inside him that he'd been trying to hold in check. John stood to his feet, fierce conviction in his tone. "This is no charade, Rose. Not for me. I've been open and honest with you about how I feel from the start. Care to try it?"

She folded her arms over her chest, but it looked more like a gesture of self-protection than defiance. "I _have_ been honest with you. I think I made it clear straight away that I didn't even want to be on this ship."

He moved two strides closer. "Meaning you didn't want to be with _me_?"

She lifted her chin, and this gesture _was_ in defiance. This was more like the strong-willed side to her he knew existed. Heaven help them both. "I never pretended otherwise."

John strode quickly forward, not stopping until he was close enough to feel her harsh breath heaving out of her nostrils, but she held her ground. She could be as stubborn as he. Given their emotionally-charged states, that could prove dangerous.

"Go on, then. Just say it," he prodded, voice deceptively calm. His pulse was racing, temperature rising, and restraint pushed just far enough to the edge to want to incite a reaction in her. _Any_ reaction. He'd been holding on to the hope that beneath it all she had genuine feelings for him. He was never more desperate than now for her to admit that. Or to finally deny it once and for all. "Tell me how much you hate me, since you're being so honest..."

She looked away then. "Just…enough, okay?"

"No," he insisted. "It's not okay. Why don't we just clear the air? You can say it. You can say right now how much you hate me if that's how you feel…"

"John," she warned.

"How much you despise me...," he kept on.

"Just…stop it."

"How much you wish we'd never even met. Is that how you feel? Then just bloody well _say_ it."

She looked him dead in the eye then, her chest heaving, her eyes flashing. "Fine! I… I…"

" _Say_ it," he repeated, his voice raw with emotion as he pressed even closer.

"Oh, John…," she whispered in defeat, the fight leaving her. She lifted a tentative hand, let it hover between them, then placed it on his chest. It wasn't there to push him away. It was a plea for _him_ to make that choice. "Just…just let me go. Just forget about me and move on with your life."

His voice cracked, expression pained as he covered her hand with his. "I can't. I'm more thoroughly trapped than you." His body sagged until their foreheads were nearly touching, breath intermingling. "I'm completely and hopelessly ensnared..."

The kiss was instinctual. It just…happened.

His lips had brushed hers on the final syllable, and that one forbidden taste had his ravenous mouth seeking more. He stole her exhaled breath, drawing her hot, moist air into his own starving lungs. For a second Rose was still and he was lost. A beat later, she gasped and jerked back, pushing him away from her.

"No!" she cried. "Y-you said you wouldn't!"

Her words jolted him to his senses, and he immediately staggered back. "I'm...I'm sorry. God, Rose…I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I truly didn't. I just–"

She shook her head side to side. "Your promises are as empty as any other man's. So are your apologies!"

He tried to step toward her. "Rose, please…"

She hurried away from him and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

The harsh thud still echoed through the stateroom as John sank back down on the couch. His head dropped to his hands, fingers raking through his hair as he cursed himself. He'd taken all of his good intentions, his careful approach and the tiny progress that had been made over the past week and thrown it all away in a few reckless moments. Was he ever going to be capable of getting this right?

-:-:-:-

Rose lay wide awake as the night dragged on. She'd heard the muffled footsteps of the man in the other room, what sounded like restless pacing, before all eventually became quiet and he presumably went to sleep. She had heard his steps grow near to the bedroom door a few times, but each time the sound was accompanied by a pause and then a retreat. He had left her alone.

His words, however, had not.

Surprisingly, it was the things he'd said, not the thing he'd done, that unsettled her the most.

" _Tell me how much you hate me..."_

John's words, raw and fervid, looped 'round and 'round in her mind. A part of her _wanted_ to hate him. That would make things so much easier to define. Maybe a part of her even _should_ hate him. This bloody man saw himself as her savior, her conscience and her warden all wrapped in one. Yet in reality, in whatever corner of her jumbled mind was still capable of rational thought, she knew she had no one to blame for the current situation but herself. This never would have happened if not for the fact that she'd been a thief and a liar. John was likely even right about the fate that would have eventually befallen her had he not intervened.

That didn't make each day easier to live. How much longer was she going to be able to do this? How much longer was _he_ going to be able to do this? Something was going to have to give. Tonight was proof of that. One of them was going to break.

Unable to bear the deafening roar of her own thoughts any longer, Rose climbed from the bed, retrieved her robe and padded to the door. She needed to get out. She needed air. She needed to breathe. Quietly, she turned the knob and opened the door.

Her eyes flit toward the couch, catching sight of John. His shadowed form lay slumbering in an uncomfortable scrunched position on the couch, still wearing his trainers and various pieces of his rumpled suit, as if he'd fought sleep until it claimed the victory.

At the sight of him, the emotional and physical altercation between them replayed vividly in her mind. He had come close again, had held her to him and…

Rose felt a residual flash of fear course through her. But beneath the familiar fear she had felt something…more. Something she didn't want to think too carefully about because it scared her just as much in its unfamiliar intensity. John made no secret of wanting her and had acted on it more than once. Despite this, he was a man who so far stopped at "no," and she was beginning to believe that he would not hurt her. Not in the way she feared from other men. But what he _could_ do, what he could make her _feel_ , scared her almost as much.

Her eyes darted away from him, and in the process she caught sight of an open book on the side table at the end of the couch. The penciled sketch on the open page pulled her in, even as her mind told her to go. She edged a bit closer until there was no mistaking the picture displayed back at her. Rose was staring at herself.

He had sketched her, creating a very lifelike depiction of her sleeping form. When…when had he seen her like this? Then she recalled John having said that he had checked in on her earlier. Rose felt a wave of vulnerability crest over her in knowing he had seen her this way, and then had committed the intimate act of capturing the private moment with the strokes of his hand. But as the tide of uneasy emotion receded, it left behind a sense of being…adored.

Why? Why should he? All she had ever done was push him away, physically and emotionally. Why did he think she was capable of being someone she herself didn't even believe in?

Rose's eyes traced once more over the meticulous sketch, this time noting the title he'd scrawled beneath it:

 _My Arkytior_

Her brows drew together even as she swallowed forcibly. She didn't need to understand the second word to grasp the first perfectly. Her eyes fell to the ring on her left finger for the millionth time since being reverently placed there.

Would either of them be able to make it out of this unscathed?

Exhaling shakily, Rose moved silently past the slumbering man and toward the room's exit, slipping out into the night.

The deck was nearly deserted in the predawn hours, leaving Rose to the solitude of her thoughts. She moved to the railing and peered out at the dark, seemingly endless expanse of water. Having no land in sight heightened her sense of feeling trapped. She had nowhere to go. There was no escape – not only from this ship but from her life. What was going to become of her? How long could she pretend to be the wife of Dr. John Smith? How long would he put up with only pretending?

They would both be miserable at best. He had already confessed to feeling just as trapped as she, if on a different level. Completely and hopelessly ensnared…

He had promised that if she gave this a fair try and set her life straight in the process, he wouldn't try to hold her to this marriage if she later chose to walk away. But what if he did let her out of this…arrangement? What then? Though she hadn't admitted to it, this whole thing had opened her eyes to see that she couldn't go on as she had. She _had_ been on a destructive path. But if she didn't return to that familiar way of life, what else would she do? What were her life's goals? Her ambitions?

John Smith had made her think about that. He had made her _feel_. She had simply been careening through life, taking what she could from it. She had known the stealing was fundamentally wrong despite her attempted justifications, but it had given her _something_ to possess and have control over. Now the illusion was blown, and she was forced to see it for what it was. It had given her nothing in the end. It never really had.

So what now? Become a happily married woman with all that it entailed? He had told her he believed she could do anything. He had more faith in her than she. Rose closed her eyes and breathed the briny air into her lungs, wishing she were a different person entirely. Someone who wasn't afraid to embrace what lay before her. Someone who wasn't so bloody afraid to let the new, unexpected feelings stirred inside her come to life. Yes, John Smith had made her feel, and those feelings terrified her.

Old feelings and new feelings collided in a chaotic storm, intensifying her awareness of things she normally kept buried or resolutely ignored – things from her past she never understood and was half afraid to. It was simply a part of her at this point. These fears had been there since childhood, rising out of some black chasm in her mind where memory was shrouded behind some sort of forbidden veil. It was as if her mind knew not to try to peer behind it; to leave well enough alone.

This was who she was. This was who she had always been. There was no escape from it, and now she was being forced to face that unchanging fact and what it meant for any hopes of a future. More than that, she was now dragging someone else's future down right along with her, tangling him in her mess of a life. She had pleaded with John tonight to let her go for his own sake, but he wouldn't listen. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to deal with this. She didn't want to _have_ to deal with this.

As Rose watched the hypnotic churning of the blackened sea, she almost wished she could simply…cease to feel. Simply cease to–

"Rose?"

Startled, Rose turned in the direction of the voice, eyes landing on the concerned face of John as he approached her.

"Midnight stroll?" he asked, attempting a casual tone, though his concern was evident in the intense focus of his eyes and tight line of his jaw.

She shrugged, feeling the cold metal railing send a chill down her robe-clad back as she pressed into it. "Couldn't sleep."

He took a half step forward, extending his hand slowly. "Why don't you come back to the suite? Hmm? Come on, then. Just…come away from the rail."

She laughed then, a dull, humorless sound. "Why? Afraid I came out here to off myself?"

His voice remained quiet and steady, as if calming a spooked horse. "I don't know. Did you?"

She stared into his dark, anxious eyes for a long moment. "I don't know."

He took a step closer, one more, then stopped when he was within reaching distance if need be. "I'll take you back, Rose, if that's what you want. We dock tomorrow at Miami. We can get off there and take a flight straight back. All right? Then we'll just…figure the rest out from there."

Rose closed her eyes. His had not lost their anxious intensity when she opened hers again. "Okay," she finally consented. It was the only thing she could agree to for now.

She didn't take his offered hand as they walked back in silence.


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N** John and Rose try to contend with the present, while an unforeseen issue lurks on the horizon.

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

"Oh, John, you're back! I've missed you _so_ much," Reinette intoned in a smooth, sexy purr as she twined her arms around John's neck, attaching herself before he'd barely had time to exit the cab that had just brought him back to Gallifrey Manor. "Was your trip…unsatisfactory?" The blonde cast a derisive glance at Rose as she got out of the cab after him. "Honeymoons don't usually end so…swiftly."

Rose felt an odd, twisting sensation in her stomach as she observed the young woman enfold John in a tight embrace.

"On the contrary. The trip was…stimulating on many levels," he stated, unpeeling her arms from around him. "And the honeymoon is far from over..."

"There they are! And there's my lovely girl!" came the voice of Wilfred as he made his way a little more slowly down the front steps to join them. "Come here, sweetheart," he said, gathering Rose in a warm hug. "So good to have you back."

"'S good to be back," she said with a small smile as he stepped back, then she considered her words. Was it? Would things be any better here? She simply didn't know anymore.

He then turned and clapped John affectionately on the shoulder. "Can't say I'm sorry to see you two back early. It can get right lonesome in this big old place. And the young Madame here doesn't like to keep an old man company," he good-naturedly complained.

"You're in bed by eight o'clock," Reinette deadpanned. "You're not up long enough for anyone to have a chance to keep you company."

"Early to bed, young lady. Keeps you fit as a fiddle and out of trouble," he said, wagging an admonishing finger. "But all the same, this place is as quiet as a tomb with hardly anyone else knocking about but the occasional staff. Oh, but you two newlyweds will fill it up soon enough, eh? Eh?" He nudged John, then scurried his fingers in a scampering motion. "Little ones running around in no time, I'll bet. Then it'll be proper chaos if they all take after their father."

Rose glanced down as John cleared his throat.

"Ah, well…all in due time," John diverted as they all turned to enter the house.

"Have you had dinner yet?" Wilfred asked. "We could all go out for a sort of welcome home celebration, eh? Then we can hear all about your trip and the sights along the way. I haven't seen much beyond these old English shores since my days as a Private in the 6th Airborne Division. Ah, back in the day…"

Rose looked at John with barely veiled anxiety. She was exhausted in every sense and just wanted to shut herself away for the night and not have to _think_. She wasn't ready to jump into pretending that everything was okay. He either sensed this or felt the same as he made an excuse for them both.

"We grabbed a bite on the way," John said. "And I'm afraid the tales of our intrepid travels will have to wait until morning. We're both rather tired from the trip back."

"You _do_ look quite haggard, dear," Reinette directed at Rose, voice derisive rather than sympathetic.

"Yeah, well…I blame John for that," Rose rejoined, eyes briefly flicking to his. The statement could be interpreted on many levels under the circumstances, and she left each of them to make of it what they would.

"Guilty as charged," he responded, and if she wasn't mistaken there _was_ a note of guilt in his tone. He then looked to Wilfred. "But I promise to join you for breakfast first thing. Though it might just be me coming down." He winked at Rose. "I've come to learn that my lovely wife likes to sleep in."

Before Rose could regain enough composure to attempt a response to the statement of implied intimacy, Reinette cut in.

"Ah, so you've learned a lot about each other, have you? Still, I imagine there is still _much_ left to discover…" Wearing a menacing smirk, Reinette turned and walked off without another word.

"Been in a bit of a snit lately, that one," Wilfred commented in a lowered voice as he watched her go. He turned back to them. "But never you mind. You know what we need? A proper celebration. Not tonight, mind. But soon. Never did get time for an engagement party or anything of the like. We ought to celebrate right and proper now."

I…wouldn't want anyone to make a fuss. Really," Rose responded, frankly dreading the idea.

"Nonsense! It'll be a grand old time. Give me a chance to dust off my dancing shoes." The old man gave an impromptu demonstration, shuffling his feet to no beat in particular. He stopped, still grinning. "Oh, but there's time for that. You two get some rest, and I don't expect to see either of you before noon tomorrow. Got that?" With a wink, he turned and headed off.

"Come on then, love," John said, placing a hand at Rose's back as he directed her toward the staircase. He leaned in closer, voice lowered. "Would it be asking too much for you to offer one smile?"

She looked at him, her expression tight. "More than you think."

His own expression tensed. It had been like this between them since leaving the ship, their interactions strained at best.

They reached the top of the staircase and Rose automatically turned to the right to head for the guest suite she had occupied during her earlier stay. But John redirected her, motioning her instead to the left. They approached the first bedroom suite, and though she had not yet been in this room she knew whose it was. It was John's.

He opened the door and stepped aside to let her pass. Pausing a moment, Rose finally edged inside. She cast her eyes about the room, overlooking the elegant décor in sumptuous fabrics of blue and ivory. Her gaze was instead on the carved mahogany bed, centered on the far wall as a focal point. She jumped slightly at the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut.

She turned around to face John. He stood by the door, hands shoved deep in his pockets, pensive eyes fastened to her. She wondered what was going through that complex mind of his. He had been difficult to read on the swift trip back, clearly holding himself in check around her. Both were on proverbial eggshells with each other. That last night aboard the ship had upped the tension between them considerably. She had thrown her protective guard back up. He, in turn, seemed to have done the same, careful not to push the status quo.

John shoved off from the door and stepped forward, voice carefully neutral. "I know you're uncomfortable, Rose. And I know you don't feel up to playing the blushing bride to all and sundry. But if we're to avoid difficult questions for the time being, we'll have to make some kind of effort. I want to ease as much of this…tension between us as possible, though. And I promise to make you as comfortable as I can here. So for now, you can have this room and I'll take the adjoining one without anyone else having to know." He nodded toward a closed interior door on the left. "It's my connected workshop…I can make do on the couch."

He was becoming good at that, she briefly thought but didn't dare say. He walked to the door he'd indicated and opened it to reveal a smaller room in warm, rich tones, with a worn leather couch visible on the far side. The room's sole function would've appeared to be that of a library with its towering bookcases stuffed to capacity, if not for the various technological gizmos scattered about and strewn across a long worktable near the couch.

By appearances, John used that space much more often than the bedroom, unlived in by comparison. He was a man who thrived on activity, she was learning, not one to idle away the time, no matter how posh the surroundings. Not that she'd taken a personal interest in noting this, Rose was quick to remind herself. It was simply a product of having spent time in rather close proximity.

"That's very…accommodating of you," Rose managed. She hadn't meant for it to sound quite so sarcastic, but she was tired and her civility was wearing thin.

His posture stiffened. She wasn't the only one wearing thin. "I'm trying, Rose. I just…" He exhaled, lowering his voice a notch. "I might not be doing a bang-up job of succeeding, but I'm trying."

She felt her contentious mood ebb in the face of his downcast one. Rose took in a long breath. "Look, I _am_ tired, okay? Can we just put off talking about…arrangements until tomorrow?"

John nodded once, dragging a hand through his hair, the dark tips standing even more on end. "Of course." He paused, eyes regarding her intently. "But…would you…"

"What?" she warily prompted.

"Would you reconsider talking to someone about all this? Please? And I'm not talking about some form of marriage counseling." He gave a short, sardonic laugh. "We'll save that for me. But that's hardly the main issue here. There are far more important things you're going to have to face for your own sake."

Rose felt a surge of panic. The last thing she wanted was to attempt to strip away the curtain on her fears. That curtain was her only safeguard from whatever lurked beneath. "I told you, I'm _fine_ ," she insisted, though it sounded as unconvincing to her own ears as it likely did to his. "And…how could I?" she went on trying to reason, now lowering her voice and glancing to the door to double check it was shut. "You know my past. If that were to come out and become known, I'd..I'd…"

He took a step closer. "Then will you reconsider talking to _me_? I'm probably not your first choice," he gave another hollow laugh, "and I think I've proven probably not the most capable. But I _do_ want to help." John paused, eyes falling to his left hand. "Though I admit my methods of going about that have failed rather spectacularly up to this point."

She said nothing. She wasn't sure _what_ to say. This was probably the most honest and vulnerable she'd seen another person allow themselves to be, and she wasn't sure how to respond to that.

After a lengthy pause, he continued. "In the meantime, I think it's best if I entrust this to you…trust whatever you decide should become of it." With that, he slid the wedding ring from his finger and held it out to her.

Rose looked between him and the outstretched ring, her heart stuttering oddly in her chest. She finally took it, wordlessly, again not knowing what to say.

He shoved his hands back in his pockets.

"Do you…still want me to stay?" she finally asked.

"What do you want, Rose? Because if you feel like you're hurting more just by being with me, then…" He trailed off, swallowing thickly.

"I don't know," she answered honestly, voice rising a bit in desperation. "I just…I don't know." She squeezed her eyes shut, involuntarily squeezing the ring in her fist at the same time. She wasn't expecting this and felt utterly off-balanced.

"Do you want to stay, for now, until you've had more time to decide?"

"Do you want me to?" she asked again in a small voice, surprised by the vulnerability in her tone.

"More than is probably good for me," he responded in a choked voice. "But I have to stop thinking about that and focus on what's best for you."

She breathed out shakily, her mind racing to contend with the unexpected options before her. "I honestly don't know where I'd go just yet…what I'd do…"

"Then stay as long as you need. That's all you have to decide for now. A day at a time, Rose. For both of us. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

At that, he slipped into the other room and closed the door, leaving her alone.

-:-:-:-

John awoke on the couch in his workshop after a fitful night's sleep, groggily scrubbing his hands over his eyes as the morning light attempted to invade his closed lids. It took him a minute to acclimate to his surroundings, his bleary eyes taking in the familiar small space strewn with the various products of his creative tinkering. John heaved a sigh and sat up, shoving the spare blanket off himself, the light cover crumpling in a careless heap on the floor.

Well, they'd made it back, at least. And he'd managed to avoid doing much additional damage on the way. He could not stop cursing himself for allowing his emotions to get the better of him and nearly jeopardizing any hope of helping Rose in the process. This entire past week with her had been a learning experience, to say the least. He had gone into this thinking he could give Rose a measure of the love and commitment she had been deprived of, only to learn she feared that, too. So he had determined to, first and foremost, simply be her friend. Well, he'd handled that spectacularly.

Rose might have her issues and made her share of past mistakes, but he wasn't blameless here, either, he realized. He _did_ genuinely want to help her for her own sake, but he found himself questioning his methods more and more. When he'd found out about her compulsive stealing and life of risky deceit, he knew he couldn't just wash his hands of it and let her life self-destruct. But he couldn't bring himself to just turn her over to the authorities, either. Neither could he compel her to seek sincere outside help and open up to a professional counselor if she was dead set against cooperating. So, right or wrong, he had opted for the one thing he thought he _could_ do: love her.

But had it been for his sake as much as hers? He always had been rubbish when it came to that particular emotion. No wonder he seemed to have mucked this whole thing up, allowing his emotions to hit a dangerous spike, demanding her to tell him how she felt, and then… _then_ doing the very thing he had promised her he would not. He looked down at his empty ring finger in self-deprecation. He felt he had lost the right to wear it…if he'd ever had the right at all. Whether it would ever return to him was up to Rose. If she pulled herself together and moved on, he would have to respect her decision and do the same. He only hoped that, somehow and someway, he could provide opportunities to help make her life better in the process…even if that life would not include him.

Firmly shoving his own wishes and desires aside, he made up his mind to do nothing that might risk jeopardizing her trust again. He would maintain whatever distance necessary to make sure of that in the hope that maybe she would eventually feel safe and comfortable enough to open up to someone.

She still did not want to face whatever was in her past. Ironic, that. They were more alike than she realized. But when it came to his own troubled past – his family, the fire…the _cause_ – John knew all too well that it was the dark unknowns that could plague a person the most. Until Rose was able to shed light on her demons, they would always be lurking in the shadows.

In the meantime, if they were ever going to move forward from this tension-filled state, John felt like he needed to make some sort of peace offering. He owed her that much. But what? What could he do to bring her even just a small bit of genuine happiness?

He didn't have to think long to find the answer. With luck he could have it accomplished before the day was through.

-:-:-:-

Rose avoided the family breakfast that morning, lingering in her room instead. She wasn't trying to be deliberately difficult, despite what John must think. But she needed time to just…get her head around all this. She needed to collect herself and find her footing here. And she would have plenty of alone time to do that, it seemed.

John was not only giving her space, he had given back his ring. That gesture had been completely unexpected, and at the time she hadn't even known how to respond. She still wasn't sure how she felt about it. She wasn't sure how she _should_ feel about it. All she knew was that small, circular piece of gold he'd relinquished to her hand now felt like a heavy weight in her chest.

He was making it clear, both in word and action, that he was not putting expectations on her as a wife nor taking any liberties as a husband. She should feel relieved by that. But she also felt like she had failed at the one thing she had agreed to, which was to give this a fair try. Maybe now he _was_ preparing to forget her and move on. She couldn't blame him. She had asked for as much.

But he hadn't told her to up and pack her bags just yet, and the relief of this surprised her, too. At the start of this she wanted nothing more than to run. But now that she'd had proper time to consider it, she realized she had nowhere to run _to_ at the moment. She certainly wasn't going to return to her mum an unemployed failure. So if she was going to stay here for the time being there were still practicalities to sort through. Rose tried to focus on that for now rather than her churning emotions over one John Smith.

In lieu of visiting her mum, she would at least need to contact her sometime soon. John still didn't know of Jackie Tyler's existence, and Rose hoped to keep it that way. The last thing she needed was for one more thing in her life to go pear-shaped. And that would certainly be the case if her mum found out about all this, to say nothing of Rose's actions that had led to it in the first place. But she was going to have to contact her mum soon and tell her…something. She would just have to think up an excuse for why she hadn't been around lately. It wouldn't be the first time.

As Rose rummaged through the suitcases she'd yet to unpack, absently selecting an outfit for the day, her mind skipped ahead to the next matter: finances. She was, as she had already established in her mind, an unemployed failure. John might provide her with all the daily necessities for now, but what of the promise she had made to her mum to provide continued support? She _couldn't_ fail at that, too. Dread gripped her at the thought of broaching the subject with John, especially given her history. But she didn't know what else to do.

As she finished dressing, Rose heard John downstairs preparing to leave. She assumed he was going in to work. If they were going to keep up appearances, she supposed it would be expected for her to at least see him off. Not wanting to further antagonize him, especially considering the conversation she needed to have, Rose pulled herself together and determined to put in _some_ effort here.

He seemed a little surprised, though definitely pleased, as he caught sight of her descending the stairs while bidding Wilfred farewell.

"Ah, there she is," Wilfred greeted brightly.

Rose smiled in spite of herself. She found she had developed a genuine fondness for the older man. "Sorry I overslept."

His eyes twinkled knowingly. "You're still on your honeymoon, sweetheart. No apologies needed. Speaking of, I'll leave you two lovebirds alone so you can give this smitten lad a proper send-off."

She blushed reflexively as Wilfred turned to leave. Her focus returned to John as he stepped closer. He made as if to reach for her hand but then stopped himself and drew back, pocketing his hand instead.

"Thank you," he said simply; quietly.

Rose gave a fleeting smile in return. "Are you going to work, then?"

He cleared his throat. "Ah…no, actually. I have an…errand to run. But I'll be back before long."

She nodded. There was an awkward pause between them, before he turned and headed out the door.

She followed a moment later. Best get this out of the way. "John?"

He turned back as she stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. "Yes?"

"I…"

He took a step back to her. "What is it, Rose?"

She swallowed. "I…I was gonna ask you about something, but…"

"It's all right," he encouraged. "Go on…"

Rose looked down. "It's the last thing I have a right to ask about, I know…"

"Rose, whatever it is, you can tell me."

She looked up, biting her lower lip. "I was just wondering…umm…what am I to do about…money? I…well, I haven't got any."

He certainly could have made her squirm a bit before answering, but instead he simply nodded. "No need to worry. I'll have an account set up for you, of course. Plenty to hold you over while you…decide what you want to do. I mean…get settled and consider your career options. Or…" He trailed off, glancing down.

She stared at him a moment. She'd half expected to at least have to grovel a bit; maybe be told to return to TARDIS Corporation and scrub the floors. "You'd do that?"

He sighed. "I _do_ want you to be happy, you know? And of course I intend for you to have whatever you need. Legally, what's mine is yours now. In fact, there's a strongbox in my downstairs office in the lower right drawer of the desk, the key to which is at the top of the doorframe as you enter the room. There isn't much cash in there – a few thousand pounds – but it's an adequate emergency fund if ever needed."

Was this some sort of test, she wondered? See if she could keep away from it? "Um…okay," Rose managed.

"And in the meantime, we'll set up your own account this week. Although the initial funds will be slightly lower, just for a bit. I've had a lot of recent expenditures." John paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "I suppose I should tell you this now. I didn't mention it at the time because…well…I didn't want you to think I was using it as leverage and expecting something in return."

Now it was her turn to do the prompting. "What'd you mean?"

"I've seen that Harold Saxon has been anonymously paid back."

She gaped at him, shocked that he would take such a loss for something that was her doing, not his. "But…why? And that's already over and done with. Are you mad?"

A wry smile twisted the corner of his lips. "I think we've already established that I probably am. But not for doing this. And even if I _am_ mad, they can't put me in jail for it. But being an accessory after the fact is a criminal offense, and I'd like to at least dull the ax hanging over my head. No money lost, no crime outstanding."

"So you clear your conscience _and_ your bank account?"

"Something like that."

"It's not worth it," she muttered.

He moved closer, catching her downward gaze. "Yes, you are." She looked at him. He smiled. "I'll be back soon."

He turned to leave, and Rose, still trying to digest this latest revelation, returned to the house.

Neither had been aware of Reinette observing the conversation through the corner of an upstairs window. An upstairs window that was open just a crack. Just enough.


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N** John makes an important discovery about Rose from an unexpected source.

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

Reinette turned away from the upstairs window and distractedly made her way toward the stairs, her mind awhirl over what she had just heard as she attempted to put two and two together.

Upon finding a reference to "paying off Saxon" the week before, she hadn't known at the time what it meant but had known that for some reason it just sounded queer. It was possible that it was some sort of business matter, the firm of Saxon & Company having an affiliation with John's corporation from what she could recall having heard in passing. But why list it among the necessities to tend to before his fly-by-night wedding to this mysterious woman? With that niggling question unanswered, Reinette had looked for more information on this Saxon person, only to discover news reports about a robbery committed at his firm a little while back, the suspect being a female employee who had disappeared immediately after and never been found.

The name of the suspect was unfamiliar to her, and there were a few dissimilarities with the given description, but the overall physical characteristics, age and job description of the woman in question were very recognizable, indeed. Reinette's mind had made a mad leap, but she'd had no solid grounds for her suspicions. That was, until a few minutes ago. Given what she had just overheard, it seemed her suspicions had not been so mad after all. A wild thrill shot through her at the possibilities this could create. Oh, that dirty little chav. What if it _was_ true? She certainly wasn't going to sit idly by whilst a common thief seized the position of Lady of the Manor and usurped Reinette's own ambitions.

The situation, however, was far from straightforward. There was still so much that didn't make sense about all this. Why on earth would John become involved with someone like that in the first place? And why would _he_ pay back the debt? Was she using him somehow? Was she holding something over him? Some form of blackmail? But if that was the case, why had John seemed so…taken with her? Reinette shuddered in revulsion at the thought, but further thinking along that line made it all a little clearer. _Of course_. Reinette was, first and foremost, a woman. A woman who knew what made men tick. She should have recognized this age-old tactic straight away. That crafty little bottle-blonde had seduced him. Simple as that. And now John was in entirely over his head by the sound of things.

He was no doubt regretting this twisted entanglement already. That would certainly explain why the honeymoon seemed to have hit the rocks. One would have to be oblivious not to feel the chill in the air between the two of them upon their hasty return. Poor John, she thought, a licentious little smile curving her full lips. She would just have to help him thaw.

She would need to play this smart, though. Assumptions were all well and good, and the little she had overhead certainly sounded incriminating. But when it came down to it she still had no solid proof. Furthermore, she wasn't going to do herself any favors by taking actions that might implicate John, nor could she gain his affections by extorting him in any way. No, she would have to take an oblique approach. She needed to make him feel that she was on his side, that he could trust her, lean on her, share everything with her. He was no doubt emotionally vulnerable right now, leaving her in a prime position to offer him…comfort.

Meanwhile she was going to devise a way to bring all of this crashing down on his new bride's head.

Just as Reinette was rounding the top of the staircase, she saw the woman in question slip into the downstairs study off the entry, flicking a glance left and right before quietly closing the doors.

Swiftly and silently, Reinette descended the stairs and followed after her. She padded quietly up to the double mahogany doors and leaned in close. From the other side, she was able to make out the sound of Rose's voice, engaged in what sounded like a phone conversation. She listened carefully. The more information she could gather on this woman, the better.

"…'M fine, Mum. Just been busy, is all. And then I got sick. Yeah, the flu or something…just wasn't up to phoning. Yeah. Yeah, I'm better now. But I can't talk long. I just wanted to ring and let you know I'm doing fine and I plan to send you a bit more money soon. Oh, well… I-I dunno. I'd like to see you soon as I can, of course. But I'm not sure when I'll get a chance to come 'round. I won't be back in London for a while. Work, and all that… But I'll try to phone you again before long, 'kay? Yeah. I… Bye, Mum."

As Rose rang off, Reinette eased away from the door and hastened back upstairs. So the little liar _did_ have family. What sordid reasons did Rose have for inviting none to the wedding, going so far as to claim that her mother was dead? Reinette could only imagine. And imagine she did.

Oh yes, she and John had _much_ to discuss.

-:-:-:-

As John pulled off the winding country lane and turned down the long drive of Gallifrey Manor, he was cautiously optimistic that this gesture he was about to make would go over well with Rose. He knew he couldn't buy her affections nor would he want them under such circumstances. But he _did_ want her to be happy, and he knew this would likely bring her a measure of that happiness. And if it caused her to look on him a bit more favorably in the process, well…he certainly wasn't opposed to that either, under the strained circumstances.

He rounded the circular drive and came to a stop in front of the Manor, trailer in tow. John cut the ignition and gave several sharp beeps of the horn to signal his arrival, before sliding out from behind the wheel.

He had told Wilfred of his plan and conspired for him to fetch Rose upon returning. A moment later, Wilfred and Rose, and even Reinette and a few of the kitchen staff on hand that day, came out to investigate the commotion, Wilfred no doubt creating quite a stir in his enthusiasm to usher Rose outside.

John was just opening the trailer as Rose walked down the front steps, her expression quizzical. Her bemused face transformed to one of utter delight the instant the majestic stallion emerged, his glossy black form prancing forth, head high, as if he knew he belonged here.

"Lykos!" Rose cried out in sheer joy, dashing forward.

John couldn't keep the smile from his own face as she ran to embrace the animal, stroking the flowing ebony mane and nuzzling the soft spongy nose as she cooed loving nonsense. John tried very hard to quash his sudden surge of jealousy toward a horse. The horse in turn clearly recognized Rose and returned her doting affections, snorting softly and stretching his sleek neck to nestle closer.

"Oh, Lykos! My beautiful, beautiful boy." Rose was positively beaming. A look that did not diminish as she pulled back and fixed her gaze on John. Her smile lit her entire face, and his breath caught at having such a look directed at him. "Thank you," she said in earnest. "Oh, John, I…" Rose swallowed, taking one hand from around the horse and reaching it toward him, hesitating only briefly before placing her hand in his and giving a squeeze as she blinked back tears of happiness. "Thank you so much," she breathed out.

His own smile grew to embarrassing proportions, all white teeth and crinkly eyes and silly little hum in his throat. "You're quite welcome."

Rose had opted to wear a long breezy skirt that day, but she didn't let her impractical attire hold her back. Without further pause, she hiked her skirt to her knees, kicked off her flats and climbed atop the horse. Holding to nothing but the long mane, she thumped her bare heels into the stallion's muscular flank. Perfectly in tune, the two moved effortlessly as they galloped off across the sprawling green fields and toward the late afternoon sun. John watched, mesmerized by the sight. He had never seen Rose so naturally at ease.

"Ah, well done, my boy. Always did know how to charm the women," Wilfred remarked, giving John a wink and a nudge. "And that gives me an idea for this upcoming party... I'd better go make a few plans." With that, he turned to head back inside.

Reinette came to occupy the space beside John, watching as Rose and her beloved stallion faded into the hillside. "You certainly must keep the lady happy…"

He spared a glance at the woman beside him. "I very much want her to be happy, yes."

"And what about you? Are _you_ happy?"

His eyes narrowed. "Is there a reason I wouldn't be?"

"You tell me."

"It should go without saying," he deflected.

"It should, yes. That doesn't make it so."

John folded his arms across his chest, and she glanced at his left hand as it wrapped around his bicep. Her gaze drew slowly back to his, a devious glint in her eye. "Why John, have you misplaced your ring so soon…?"

He turned his head away, fixing his gaze on the direction Rose had gone. "It didn't fit," he finally said, those three words weighing heavily on his tongue. "We're making some…adjustments."

"Oh?" she responded, sounding almost…delighted, reading between the lines with unnerving perception.

He tucked his hands into his pockets.

"There's something I want you to know, if you do not already," she went on, and he found he wasn't liking the sound of this. "You can turn to me for anything, John. Anything."

"Reinette…," he began in a warning tone.

"And I think you very much need someone right now." she continued. "You're in trouble, are you not?"

He felt himself stiffen. "I have no idea what you're on about."

"Oh, but I think you do," she persisted, pressing a little closer to his side. "But as I said, you can trust me with anything. I have absolutely no reservations, I assure you. I would even lie to the police for you…do whatever you asked or needed of me. _Anything_."

John stared back at her, his expression betraying nothing. "Is this supposed to make some kind of sense?"

She paused, and he felt a sense of impending dread. "I heard a very…enlightening conversation between you and Rose this morning just before you left."

His pulse quickened. "Heard? Meaning you deliberately _eavesdropped_? Tell me again how long before you complete your studies and get yourself married off? Shouldn't you already be seeking out a royal suitor by now to meet your high standards?"

"Don't patronize me," she spat back. "Not after your quick and dirty wedding to this Marion or Rose or whatever she calls herself. I didn't have to overhear anything to know that something was not at all right here. Why on earth would you have married someone like her? You could have simply bed her if she caught your fancy. Or did she _insist_ on more?"

"You really have _no_ idea what you're talking about here," he countered.

"That's true," she allowed. "I don't yet know what hold she has over you, but I want you to know that I'm here to _help_." Her tone softened as she placed a hand on his arm. He glanced sidelong at her hand, then back to her. "I have _always_ been here for you, John. You know that. I didn't blame you when Joan left nor take her side in the matter."

"Because you didn't want to jeopardize your stay."

"I didn't want to jeopardize _us_."

He quirked a brow. "Us?"

Reinette stroked her fingertips up his arm, voice as smooth as her touch. "There has always been something between us. You cannot deny it. You can _feel_ it. I know you can. It's there when you look at me…when you think I don't see. When I first came here, you thought I was too young to consider it. And perhaps I was. And there was Joan, of course. You're a good man so you kept your distance. But I am _very_ much a woman now, and you can't deny what is between us. The sparks are there, igniting every time our eyes meet or our bodies draw close. You _know_ you feel it, too."

There was no denying that Reinette was a beautiful woman. And there was no denying he hadn't noticed on more than one occasion. She'd been in her teens when they first met, shortly after he and Joan began seeing each other, and it was clear even then that she was developing into a lovely young woman. Then when Reinette moved here a few years later to enroll in university, he noticed how much she had…grown. But she was right, he had purposely kept his distance, and not just for the noble reasons she had stated. In truth, she simply wasn't his type. Not for the long haul. They would be like gasoline and a match. They might very well ignite, but there would be nothing left in the aftermath. He always wondered how long he should let her stay before it were to become a very bad idea. Especially now, if she was going to try to bring trouble for Rose. But despite what she had heard, she was lacking one critical component to being able to cause any real trouble, he thought: hard proof.

John unclasped Reinette's slender hand from his arm and took a distancing step back. "What I feel is love and commitment toward my _wife_. We need to be clear on that. Whatever you're after, you're not going to get it."

She frowned, glossy lower lip protruding as if genuinely hurt. He wasn't buying it. "All I want is to help you, John. To see that you're happy."

His voice remained even, his manner composed. "All right. Yes. You can most certainly help to make me happy. You can do that by being a friend to Rose. She needs that very much."

Reinette let out a scornful little laugh. "Oh, really? Surely she has a host of friends and family waiting in the wings to fulfill that job. Her mother, for instance? Oh, but then…she must be unspeakably ghastly to not even be allowed at the wedding and to go so far as to claim that she's dead."

His eyes narrowed in sharply. "Her mother _is_ dead. And it's rather cruel of you to suggest otherwise."

Reinette glanced casually at her immaculately manicured fingernails. "Oh? Well, then Rose must have been speaking to her mother from beyond the grave when I overheard her on the phone today…"

Despite her underhanded methods, the information she'd gleaned instantly had his attention, though he tried not to let this show. "What are you talking about?"

She huffed in exasperation. "Stop being so thick, John. God, what has she done to you? Do you need it spelled out? Rose has a mother who is very much alive and well and living in London. She was talking to her just today. Rose told her that she's been sick and unable to phone or visit recently but that she plans to send money soon. _Your_ money, no doubt."

His tone remained unaffected, though it took considerable effort. "And you fell for that, did you? You didn't stop to realize that Rose knew you were there and so she played you? Now who's the thick one?"

She scowled, delicate features twisting with ire. "I'm trying to help you, John. That's all."

He brushed past her and toward the house. "Then stay out of my affairs."

She hurried in front of him, forcing him to stop, voice dropping to a low, suggestive purr. "But I very much want to be _in_ your affairs…"

He glared down at her. "And to what do I owe that pleasure?"

A salacious smile formed on her lips. "I fancy liars."

He continued past her and into the house.

-:-:-:-

John proceeded straight into his downstairs study and closed the door securely behind him. He sank down into the leather chair behind his desk, processing what he had just learned. Reinette didn't intend it that way, but she had actually just helped him out considerably.

Rose had a mother still living – a link to her past and a likely source of knowledge as to what lurked there. He sincerely wished, of course, that Rose would have shared this important fact with him, but he could understand the possible reason for why she had not. Rose had been leading a double life, and if this mother of hers did not know of her daughter's past…indiscretions, it was understandable why Rose would want to keep her away from someone who _did_. John had no intentions of divulging damaging facts to anyone, though. This wasn't about giving information. It was about gaining it.

He suspected that the key to helping Rose was finding out what had happened to make her this way. If Rose couldn't or wouldn't open up about that, then he was going to have to try to look for answers himself. What might this mother know? A great deal more than he himself knew at the moment, he sensed. Possibly more than even Rose herself knew.

He had been hoping Rose would open up to him of her own accord, but if she was intent on burying her past and keeping her mother out of the picture then he was going to have to take matters into his own hands. If he was going to have any chance of helping Rose, then he needed to understand what they were both up against. Whoever and wherever this mother of hers was, he needed to find her, and the sooner the better for all concerned.

It was time to utilize an investigator. John picked up the phone and dialed Jack Harkness.


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N** Important questions are answered, but new questions are raised.

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

At Wilfred's enthusiastic insistence, a party was set to be held that upcoming weekend to celebrate John & Rose's new marriage, and also serve as a chance for Rose to be introduced to more of John's friends and acquaintances. Though John knew Rose had not been keen on the initial idea, she had made an effort to be agreeable nonetheless. And she had actually shown a bit of genuine enthusiasm when Wilfred suggested they incorporate a riding activity into the weekend event.

The party was to take place on Saturday, with a trail hunt to be held the next morning for guests who enjoyed riding and a bit of sport. With the weekend fast approaching and Friday now upon them, Wilfred accompanied Rose on a ride across the grounds of the Manor to better familiarize her with some of the terrain over which the pre-scented trails would be marked.

With Rose and Wilfred otherwise occupied and Reinette out of the house for the afternoon, John was left to play the waiting game as he awaited updates from Jack Harkness on the investigation into Rose's past, and specifically, the mother he had just recently discovered existed.

It had been less than a week since bringing Jack in on the task, but the investigator was already making swift progress. He had been out of the country on an assignment when John had first contacted him, but Jack had put his current business on hold to return to his Cardiff-based agency and begin the investigative process for his friend.

The two had been friends for a couple of years now, with Jack's unique line of work and constant ear to the ground often putting him in a position to connect John with sources for rare components needed for experimental projects. This was the first time he had needed Jack for a personal matter, though, and John was realizing just how lucky he was to have someone like that in his corner.

John knew he could trust the man not only to find needed information, but to keep the information in confidence. Even still, John kept the details vague where Rose was concerned, telling of his recent marriage to her and that there was trouble in her past that she didn't want to burden him with – things he needed to know. But he kept her indiscretions out of it. As John had hoped, Jack asked no more questions and simply offered his help.

The most recent update had come the day before, with Jack reporting that he had been able to positively locate Rose's mother in London, a woman by the name of Jackie Tyler. The two men agreed for Jack to attempt a visit the next day to see what, if anything, could be gleaned from her.

John suspected Rose would be less than thrilled to know he was looking into her personal life, but under the circumstances he had few options. He could only hope that in time she would thank him for this. Forgive him, at least. In the meantime, he thought it best to allow Jack to be the one to make contact with the mother for now. Things were complicated enough without John introducing himself as the son-in-law to a woman who, as far as he knew, had no knowledge of his existence.

John now paced the dark mahogany floors of his study, waiting for word from Jack, hoping it would come while the others were still away from the house. It had been a few hours since the time Jack had planned to drop in on the woman. He should be hearing back from him at any time.

When the call finally came, John seized it on the first ring, practically diving for his mobile on the desk.

"Hello? Jack! What took you so long?"

" _Wow. Is that supposed to be gratitude for all the legwork I've done for you the past few days?_ " came the American-accented man on the other end. " _'Cause I've gotta tell you, I'm not feeling the love here, Doc."_

John pinched the bridge of his nose. Friends they may be, but that didn't mean Jack couldn't still be bloody exasperating at times. And Jack _knew_ he hated that nickname. John or even the formal moniker Dr. Smith would suffice…but being called _Doc_ always made him feel like Bugs Bunny was addressing him. "Just give me what you've got, all right? I don't have a lot of time to talk freely."

He could hear the muffled creak of worn springs on the other end as Jack settled himself into a chair. _"Well, for starters, this Jackie Tyler woman is definitely screwy. I turned on the ol' Harkness charm…which, by the way, is usually_ irresistible _…and I didn't even get to first base with her. I can't say that's ever happened before…"_

"Blow to your ego aside, were you able to learn anything from her, at least?"

" _Not from the mother herself, no. She's as tight-lipped as a nun fulfilling a vow of silence. But even_ those _I can get to open up with my…guaranteed methods of persuasion. Not this lady, though. The woman is definitely hiding something about her daughter, refusing to say anything about her at all. And she didn't buy my story of being an old friend of Rose's just checking up to see how she's doing. She didn't seem to think that Rose would've had even a passing acquaintance with someone like me. Actually, she said as much."_

John tamped down his disappointment. He hadn't expected this to be easy. "So nothing from the mother directly. But what about others who've known her, or–"

Jack breathed out heavily on the other end. _"I might not have gotten anything directly from her, but I_ have _uncovered more through my investigations. I just don't know if you want to hear it."_

John sat down. "I need to know."

" _All right. Here goes. Rose Tyler doesn't have much of a past. At least not on record. But Jackie Tyler_ does _. She was on trial fourteen years ago for killing a man."_

A beat or two of silence passed as the unexpected words settled. "Wait. She… _what_? Who? And…and _why_? What happened?"

" _The man she killed was a client of hers,"_ Jack went on _._

"Client," John repeated numbly.

" _Client, as in utilizing her services as a…Lady of the Evening, if you want to use the more delicate term."_

"What?" was all John seemed to manage.

" _You know…call girl, prostitute, whor–"_

"Yes, Jack. Thank you. I get the picture."

" _Anyway, during the proceedings the court took temporary custody of her little girl, who was eight at the time. In the end, Jackie Tyler was found not guilty, the incident ruled as self-defense. Apparently she'd been severely assaulted and acted to protect herself with the nearest blunt object she could find."_

John took a minute to process all of this. "You're sure this was the same Jackie Tyler?" he finally asked.

" _Positive."_

John raked a hand through his hair. "The little girl. Rose. How involved was she in the proceedings? Did she…Jack, did she witness the killing?"

" _Not according to the records. Testimony from the mother states that the little girl was asleep at the time and knew nothing of what happened."_

John knit his brows. That didn't fit with what he knew of Rose and her issues. No, there was much more here, he feared. "Was the girl questioned?"

" _Initially, from what I could find. But she wasn't able to give any information. A bit traumatized, it seemed, just from being taken from her mother temporarily without knowing why, other than the fact that her mother had been hurt. Had to be confusing for the kid."_

"Was she checked for any signs of assault? Physical or…or sexual?"

There was a pause, the quick clicks of fingers typing on a keyboard heard on the other end. _"Not that I see. But there's no report of any outward signs that the child was harmed."_

"Outward," John muttered harshly. "So in other words it wasn't pursued?"

" _No, apparently not."_

"What about counseling? Was the child given any sort of counseling at the time?"

There was another pause. _"No,"_ Jack finally confirmed. _"There's no record of that."_

John swore through clenched teeth, rising from his chair and pacing the room, fighting the urge to throw something. He hadn't known just how right he was for not trusting the justice system to provide Rose with the help she needed. Apparently she had already been failed once.

" _That's all I have for now,"_ Jack spoke again.

John stopped and heaved out a breath. "Thank you, Jack. This wasn't what I expected but it does help." John paused. "One more thing… Can you look up the weather reports for that night, fourteen years ago?"

" _Huh?"_

"Find out if there was a storm."

" _I'll…see what I can find,"_ Jack offered.

John sank back down in his chair, shaking his head. "Never mind. I think I already know. But I do want copies of all you've found. I'm also going to need Jackie Tyler's address."

" _Consider it done. But Doc? Aside from all of this with her mother, what is it you're not telling me about Rose? Other than the fact that you married her in a flash and_ didn't _invite me to the wedding, I might add."_

"That was nothing personal, Jack. You were out of town at the time. And the wedding…came about rather quickly. As for the rest, I still don't know myself. But as I told you before, I believe Rose has issues that stem from her past, and that seems even more obvious now. Before I could help her with that I needed to understand it."

" _Well, if you need anything else, let me know."_

"Thank you, Jack. And…"

" _I know. Don't worry. This is just between us."_

John rang off, exhaling deeply, if a little shakily. It seemed there were some literal skeletons in the Tyler family closet. He was finally beginning to put together a few pieces to this puzzle, though it was turning out to be far more involved than he'd imagined. And the mystery of Rose's past was far from solved. How much did Rose actually know about all this? What was she told of it at the time? Did she even have any clear memory of it now, or was it so traumatic that it had been repressed? He feared he already knew the answer to that.

Rose was terrified to have a man touch her with any kind of intimate intent. That didn't fit with the report of Rose having slept through what happened to her mum at the hands of a violent man, and having shown no signs of being assaulted herself. There was too strong a correlation here that suggested otherwise. But why would her mother have claimed Rose had no involvement and knew nothing of what happened if it wasn't true? Had she simply been trying to protect her child from the distress of probing questions? Or was there something more being covered up? John simply didn't know. The only one who did, he suspected, was Jackie Tyler.

He was going to _have_ to talk to the woman. That much was certain. What wasn't yet certain was how to go about it. If she wouldn't open up to Jack, John doubted he would have better luck. He didn't think Rose was ready to be approached with all this just yet, either. It had been scarcely a week since their return from a disastrous attempt at a honeymoon. He was still simply trying to improve their speaking terms, for heaven's sake. She had finally started to seem just a tiny bit more at ease here, and he was going to have to tread carefully so as not to jeopardize that. If Rose did not know the unsettling details of her mum's past – or if she did, but did her best to live in denial of it – broaching the topic would not go over very well either way, he imagined.

One step at a time. First they had to get this party over with this weekend, a chance for her presence in John's life to be celebrated and, hopefully, begin to feel a bit more like she belonged here. And maybe she would even enjoy herself a little, thanks to Wilfred's efforts. He hoped so, at least. There was much ahead that he feared would _not_ be enjoyable without adding this weekend to the list.

-:-:-:-

Rose had returned that evening from her ride with Wilfred, face flushed a healthy shade of pink and a smile in place that John was quite certain had not been forced. They all ate dinner together that night, with Rose gushing over how well Lykos had taken to the trails. John had returned her enthusiasm with genuine interest, thrilled that she was beginning to enjoy herself here in one way, at least.

Even Reinette had been surprisingly civil with Rose over dinner. Over the past several days actually, even having offered earlier in the week to help with the plans for the upcoming party. Maybe John should have been pleased by this, but something was niggling at him where the other woman was concerned. Reinette wasn't one to give up easily on something she wanted, which in this case was _him_. But John supposed he should be glad for the momentary peace, whatever her underlying motivations for keeping it may or may not be.

Everyone said their good-nights later that evening, and John accompanied Rose upstairs, as had become the custom. As had also become the custom, they parted ways once inside the bedroom, John making for his adjoining workshop where he'd taken up nightly residence.

This time, however, Rose stopped him with a quiet voice just before he closed the door between them.

"John?" she called out.

He stopped, turning back to her. "Hmm?"

"I…" She glanced down, teeth tugging at the corner of her lower lip. "I just wanted to say…" Rose huffed out a breath, swiping escaped strands of hair behind her ear and seeming frustrated with her inability to articulate whatever it was she'd been trying to say. Her eyes lifted back to his. "G'night, John."

He gave a nod in understanding. In time, he hoped. "Good night, Rose."

John settled into his makeshift bed on the couch that night, unaware of the storm moving in.

-:-:-:-

John's supine form bolted upright, awoken by Rose's sharp cry from the adjacent room, drowning out the passing rumble of thunder that echoed off in the distance. He tossed back the covers and sprang to his bare feet, throwing the light switch as he made for the door. Not bothering to knock, he flung open the adjoining door and hurried to her bedside.

Rose was thrashing in the bed, blue linens kicked from her body and tangled about her legs, her mind clearly in the throes of a nightmare. Being no stranger to nightmares himself, John had awoken in a similar state more than once. Ironically, since Rose had come into his life, John's own had eased. He only hoped the same could be true for her in time.

"Rose?"

"N-no!" she choked out in sleep. "No, don't! Please, don't!"

John leaned down, grasped her shoulders and shook her lightly. "Rose, wake up. It's okay."

" _NO_!"

The door to the bedroom opened then. Reinette stepped in, apparently not caring about her own state of undress in her short, low-cut lace nighty. "What on earth is this commotion? Such distressing noise..."

"Close the door," John hissed. "No need to wake up the entire house. She's just having a nightmare."

Rose sat up with a gasp, still disoriented.

"It's all right. It was just a bad dream," John soothed her, kneeling down beside the bed.

Reinette cast a glance into the adjoining room, John's provisional bed on the couch visible through the open door. She raised a sculpted brow at this but said nothing.

"W-where…," Rose murmured incoherently. "I'm…"

"Shhh," John quieted her again, a hand soothingly stroking her shoulder. "It's over. It was just a dream."

Rose eased back down in the bed, a shiver coursing through her. "'M so cold."

Reinette smirked. "Why John, I believe preventing that is meant to be _your_ job. Is it not?"

He cut her a sharp glare. "Goodnight. Please close the door on your way out."

Reinette left, though her smirk did not.

The short-lived storm outside had passed, the distant thunder dying off with the last of Rose's cries. All was quiet as John turned his attention back to Rose. "Would you like me to bring you some tea? Nice cuppa of steaming chamomile should set you to rights, eh?"

"N-no," she stammered, still shaken by her dream, working to untangle the sheets and cover herself again. "Don't need it." Rose leaned over and reached for the drawer beside the bed, drawing out a bottle of prescription sleeping pills.

John snatched the bottle from her hand. "Where did you get these?"

She was coming fully awake now, evidenced by her emerging defensiveness. "Does it matter? And if you take 'em I can just get more."

His jaw clenched. "Of course you can. And don't forget guns, ropes, even plastic bin bags. Plenty of available choices if you're so inclined."

She glared at him. "Ta for the suggestions. Now that's settled, would you mind just letting me go back to sleep?"

John stepped back but did not leave. Instead, he sat down on the chaise lounge beside the bed. "Are you sure that's what you want? Some nights sleeping seems to be your least peaceful state. That's not the first time you've had these dreams, so I've noticed."

Her face showed its weariness as her fingers kneaded her forehead. "'S nothing."

He very much doubted that. In fact, knowing what he now did, her nightmares were not at all a surprise. "Is it about some…memory of yours? A past event?"

She shook her head. "No, it…it doesn't mean anything."

"But it's a recurring dream?"

"Lots of people have recurring dreams."

"Usually about a traumatic experience," he pointed out. John paused, deciding to chance a little nudge now that a bridge to a discussion of her fears had presented itself. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

Rose glanced down, pulling her legs up and hugging her knees.

"I have nightmares too, you know?" he volunteered, hoping to establish a bond of empathy.

"About your family?" her quiet voice asked.

His own voice lowered. "Yes. What happened to them was…unspeakable. The dreams won't let me forget that."

"You were young, though. You said you don't remember much of what happened," she reasoned, glancing up.

"Doesn't matter. It still happened. Somewhere deep inside it still chases me."

"Some things you never outrun," Rose murmured.

"No," he agreed. "Sometimes you just have to stop and face it. But it helps if you don't have to face it alone." John leaned forward, his voice a low, soothing timbre. "Tell me about your dream, Rose. You're safe…it was just a dream…you can tell it…"

Her gaze grew distant, her mind automatically replaying the scenes that had invaded her sleep just moments before. "I…I hear the knocking. Then my mum comes and tells me to get out of bed and go sleep in the other room. But…but I don't want to. If I do I'll be cold and…and then they'll…they'll hurt her."

John nodded. "Who will hurt her? Who is it, Rose?"

"A-a man," she stammered. "I don't know who, but they always come…always someone different."

"Try to remember," he urged. "Try to think back…"

"I-I don't want to…" Her brows furrowed, then she closed her eyes and shook her head as if to dislodge the memory altogether. She opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on him, her expression clearing as she backed herself out of the hazy memories. The walls were back up. "Playing doctor tonight, eh?"

John sighed and sat back. For a minute he'd been hopeful that they might actually get somewhere. "I'm only trying to help."

Rose glanced off. "I don't need any help. 'S just a daft dream."

"I think it's more, Rose. More than you realize."

"John, I'm tired. Just…just leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone."

He leaned forward again, arms resting on his knees. "I will, if you'll first just let me at least _try_ to help you."

She snorted, her self-protective defenses back in place. "Well, that's a bit rich, don't you think? You're a fine one to give help, you are. Just look at yourself. You're fixated on a woman who's a lying thief and won't let you near her. But I think maybe you _like_ that. It satisfies this…this deep-seated need you've got to play doctor. You've got your own issues you can't get past, so you try to fix everyone else's instead, yeah?"

"Might not be too far off the mark with some of that," he conceded with a wry, humorless twitch of his lips. "But I _do_ want to help. If that makes me abnormally fixated, then I suppose I'm guilty."

"So you _do_ want to play doctor, eh?" Rose sat up a little straighter. "Okay, let's play. Get it out of your system once and for all so you can find some other game and some other lab rat to move on to."

He recognized her tactic, becoming sarcastic and defensive whenever he was getting a little too close to the truth about herself. Either way, if she was willing to humor him on this, he wasn't going to waste the opportunity. "All right. Let's have a go, then."

"Okay, doctor. Let's see… We've already covered dreams quite thoroughly. So what else would you suggest, since you seem to be the expert?"

He lifted a shoulder, feigning nonchalance. "I'm a fan of the classics…how about word association?"

She sat a little straighter and crossed her arms. "Oh, knowing you and how you natter on using every word under the sun, I bet you'd just _love_ that."

"Horse…," he threw out for starters.

She shrugged. "Free. Gentle. Innocent."

"Innocent…"

"Pure. Virtue. Virgin." She clamped her mouth shut, then looked at him, emotions masked. "Oh, well done. You're doing a bang-up job of bringing me out, eh doctor?"

"Witness…"

"See. Stare. And that's a favorite of _yours_. I catch you looking at me with those…those eyes that hide more than mine ever have. Eyes that…that…"

"Sex…"

"G-gender. Woman. Man–" Her breath hitched. "And if he touches me again I'll…I'll…" She halted, swallowing her words as she looked away.

John stood and moved closer, kneeling beside the bed, voice low and steady. "Death..."

"Peace." She squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, all right, John. I've had enough of this game."

"Colors…"

"N-no."

"Black..."

"White."

"Red…"

"White!"

" _Red.._."

"White! _WHITE_!" she cried, flinging herself out of bed and pressing her body into the nearest corner.

John shot to his feet and rushed to her side. "It's all right, love. It's okay." He half expected her to resist him, but her body literally crumpled. He eased her into his arms and she fell into him, sobbing, her tears and her cries letting loose like the breaking of a dam. "You're okay, Rose. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Not again. I swear, never again." He stroked a gentle hand over her hair, murmuring into the crown of her head. "I'm right here. You're going to be okay."

"N-no I'm not!" she choked. "I-I'm never gonna be okay…I never have been and never will be! Oh, God…what's wrong with me? _What_?"

"You _are_ going to be okay. We're going to face this, Rose. Together."

He wasn't sure if she even heard him at this point, her gasping cries drowning out his words. But he hoped his protective embrace was enough to at least let her know she wasn't alone, in any sense.

As John held her in his arms, each wracking sob felt like a small battle fought and won. Rose had now admitted to him, and more importantly to herself, that she was not, in fact, okay. He wasn't naive enough to think this would solve everything. Far from it. But it was a needed step in the right direction, at last.

Of the things that had occurred this night, of the things that had been said, one thing in particular reverberated in his mind. Rose had called him doctor, and that title took hold and resonated inside him on a deep, fundamental level that far exceeded any PhD. He was hardly perfect and certainly didn't know if he had the power to make anyone better. But for Rose, he would not give up trying.


	17. Chapter 16

**A/N** Progress at last! Walls began to fall in the previous, and Rose makes headway in toppling a few more.

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

Rose cried in John's arms until exhaustion weighed on her like lead, her entire body sapped of strength. It was as if she had been fighting in a grueling battle. In a way she had. Rose felt like she had been pummeled on every side by the dark emotions that she always worked so hard to keep at bay. Though even as she succumbed, she still did not understand the origins of the foreboding darkness that hid in her subconscious. All she knew was that it reared up to strike whenever provoked, whenever triggered by sights or sounds or circumstances that most people gave no passing thought to. Most _normal_ people, that was.

Normal. Could such a simple word ever apply to her, Rose wondered? Her fears were not normal. She was not okay. She had been forced to admit that tonight.

And yet, even as she toppled under the weight of whatever this was she carried, she was supported by words of reassurance that told her it was okay, that _she_ would be okay, that she was allowed to let herself fall. She had always been told not to think about it, not to dwell on it, that the dreams and fears were simply products of her imagination. So Rose had told herself that too, and just coped with it as best she could. John, on the other hand, did not dismiss or disregard her feelings. He encouraged her to face them. That, however, was the current problem. Allowing herself to face it for the briefest moment had brought the darkness crashing down on her.

As unsettling as her reaction had been, it had not been a surprise. It was the very reason she always tried to avoid facing these feelings in the first place. What _had_ surprised her, however, were the unexpected feelings rising in the midst of the emotional chaos; feelings that evoked a sense of calm in the eye of the storm.

As John sank with her to the floor and cradled her to his chest, as he comforted her in his arms, Rose did not feel threatened by his closeness, as she should have expected. Instead, she began to feel…safe. That was the only word to define the sheltering sense that surrounded her. Safe. He told her that she was safe, that she was protected, that he would not let anything harm her. And in that instant she found herself believing him. Trusting him. For once, the arms of another around her did not feel threatening or suffocating. It felt…reassuring. And despite herself, she did not resist him. Rose let herself be comforted, let herself be held, surrendering her fears, if only for this moment.

Her sobs finally quieted and her breathing eventually calmed. As her weary eyes began to droop, John gently eased her from his chest, his embrace slackening. She roused with a start and was hit with an instinctual need for him to remain near. She didn't want to be alone. Part of her hated feeling this sense of neediness. She'd always bucked up and carried this on her own. But John was one of the first to show her true support and understanding, and she hadn't realized until now how much she had craved it. Maybe if she hadn't been so fearful and defensive, she would have seen what he was offering sooner.

"You're exhausted, Rose," John spoke in a hushed voice. "You've got to get some rest now." In a strong, smooth step he brought them both to their feet. John gazed down at her, hands on her shoulders, concerned eyes assessing hers. He brought a hand to her hair, stroking back the disheveled strands. "I'm here for you, Rose. You know that, don't you?"

Rose felt her lip tremble. She bit it, determined not to break again. At last, she nodded. Yes, she _did_ know this.

"Good," he answered simply, a tender smile on his face. "Then for tonight, just…sleep. Doctor's orders." He gave her what she had come to think of as his lopsided grin, the one that had a boyish quality and always seemed to put her a little more at ease.

With a hand still resting on her shoulder, he guided her toward the bed.

Rose paused and turned to him, her red-rimmed eyes issuing a silent plea for something she wasn't sure if she could put into words. "I… John, I…"

He tucked her hair behind her ear, giving him a clearer view of her face and the expression he attempted to decipher. "What is it?"

"I just…I don't want to be alone."

"You won't be," he assured her. "I'm right in the next room and will listen out for you if you need anything."

"I don't want you to go," she blurted out. She then rushed out the rest before she could stop herself. "Could you just stay in here with me?" His eyes flit between her and the bed, his Adam's apple bouncing in his throat. "I mean just…stay nearby?" she hastened to clarify.

He stood silent for a moment, and she knew she wasn't the only one questioning this idea. "You're sure you're okay with that? You'd…be able to sleep?"

She glanced down, lifting her shoulders in a tiny shrug. "Think so, yeah. That's the idea."

His answering voice was as gentle as his gaze. "Then of course I will." John glanced over his shoulder at a nearby seat. "Why don't I pull the chaise over? Should do nicely."

She looked at the ivory lounger across the room, his assessment of which was generous. It was large but not long enough to do nicely in accommodating his lengthy frame. Rose looked back at the man offering to endure it all night. For her. "You'd do that? I mean…you don't mind?"

"I don't mind."

John briefly ducked into the next room, returned with a blanket and pillow, then pulled the chaise closer. Rose returned to the bed and climbed in, arranging the covers as she turned on her side.

As John lay down on the chair and situated himself as best he could, she took note of his appearance for the first time that night, from his gray T-shirt, to his navy boxers, and finally to his bare legs and feet. She swallowed. He seemed so…exposed. At least she wasn't the only one, Rose thought, if on a different level.

Rose reached for the bedside lamp and clicked it off, then returned to her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek as she faced him in the moonlit room. His long legs stretched out in front of him and partially dangled off the end of the chair, hands folded across his stomach as he lay back and closed his eyes.

Would any other man do this for her, she suddenly wondered? Accept being so close yet so far? Would he not have long since insisted on his rights as a husband upon her agreement to marriage? Would he let her make all the rules between them and set what some might see as unreasonable boundaries? Would he sit up in a bloody chair all night just because she asked it of him?

No. She suspected that few men _would_. Rose was beginning to see more and more that Dr. John Smith was rather…exceptional.

And this was what he got in return. _She_ was what he got in return.

"You deserve better than all…this," Rose whispered into the darkness. "You deserve…I dunno…normal."

"I don't want normal," his low voice answered back. "I never have. I want adventures and challenges and…you."

She pulled the dark blue duvet up to her chin and settled a little deeper, the cover of darkness giving her courage to broach questions about the two of them she might otherwise have kept to herself in the light of day. "Is it…is it because I'm a challenge, then? 'S that why?"

He laughed, low and throaty. "Oh, you're very much so. But that's not why I want you in my life. It's because you just feel…right. Being with you feels _right_ , Rose. Do you… Can you understand that?"

"But I'm…I'm not even…" Her voice dropped to a mumble. "I'm nothing special."

"Rose Tyler, you are…extraordinary."

She felt embarrassed by his undeservedly high praise. After all of this, tonight included, how could he say that? "Extraordinarily mad, maybe."

"Then we're the perfect match."

"So you keep saying."

"Because it's true."

She paused. "Even though I make you sleep in a chair?"

He angled on his side to face her, his moonlit features earnest. "Rose, you're not making me do anything. I _want_ to stay here with you." He smiled. "We can both keep away each other's nightmares, eh?" He regarded her a moment, eyes lingering. "Now, try to get some sleep."

"Can you? I mean…," she nodded toward his dangling feet, "you're not too uncomfortable like that?"

"I've slept in far less favorable conditions." He wiggled his long, slender toes. "I think I'll manage."

"If you're sure," she conceded. "Um…night, then."

"Goodnight, Rose."

Rose allowed herself to close her eyes, took a breath, and instantly had to fight to block out the images that played behind her lids, remnants of her dream flashing through her mind. It wasn't just the things she saw. It was the acute fear that accompanied it. She heard the echo of screams – her own screams ringing in her ears – and saw the flash of lightning and the splash of crimson and–

Her eyes flew open with a start. Her anxious gaze fell on John and she calmed a little. She wasn't alone. She looked at his face, eyes closed and expression relaxed, and something inside her eased a little more. She couldn't remember anyone making her feel that way. Certainly not a man. This man, she realized yet again, was different.

Rose closed her eyes once more, and instead of fearful fragments of the dream bombarding her, Rose's mind replayed what it had felt like when John held her close, imparting the solid certainty that she wasn't alone, his arms strong and secure, his heartbeat steady and soothing. The nearer he was, the safer she felt.

The realization of this was nearly unbelievable to her.

It went against what had practically become instinct – the instinct to distance herself and pull away. She couldn't define this new feeling nor was she ready to try. All she knew was that she wanted him near her. Nearer than he was even now. Rose could scarcely believe her own thoughts. Could she possibly ask this of him? Ask him to, essentially, share her bed? Would it even be possible to share a bed with a man for the sole purpose of comfort and go no further? Could _he_? Rose was coming to trust John more than any man she had ever known. But he was still a man.

Rose opened her eyes again. Her pulse quickened as John shifted and his large, dark eyes briefly opened to focus on her. A beat or two passed.

"J-John?" she whispered.

He blinked slowly, still gazing at her. "What is it, Rose?"

"I just thought…maybe…could you…?"

Slowly, still warring with uncertainty, Rose scooted to the other side of the bed and turned back the covers in the place she had vacated.

"Rose…?"

"Just…just to sleep. Just for tonight."

His expressive brows tightened and drew close. "Are you sure?"

Rose swallowed, then nodded.

He sat up, raking a hand through his thick chestnut hair and looking more uncertain than she.

"If…if you don't want to…," she began, now second-guessing herself and the entire situation.

"I do!" John clamped his mouth shut and cleared his throat. "Erm…that came out a bit quick. It's just that…thing is…I told myself I wouldn't do anything to make you uncomfortable again. Not that I would intentionally, of course." He lowered his voice. "But I didn't intend to before, and look where that got us."

"You won't," Rose said simply, and she just wished her voice had sounded as sure as her words.

After another moment of indecision, John finally pushed off his blanket and stood slowly to his feet, eyes affixed to hers almost warily, as if watching for any sign that she would change her mind or even scream for him to stay back. She could hardly blame him, given her history.

Understanding what she was offering and what she was not, he approached the bed with care, sat on the edge and eased down, pulling the covers up over them both.

John turned on his side to face her, and Rose felt her heart accelerate. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, she suddenly thought. He was so _close_. That had been the idea, but this… Well, she'd never experienced it before, her personal space disappearing in one fell swoop. She sank a little as her own portion of the mattress dipped beneath the solid weight of him, was instantly warmed by the heat that radiated from his body to envelop hers beneath their shared cocoon, tingled at the brush of his bare leg against her own as he shifted into position, and felt the intimate caress of his breath as he settled, each exhale stirring wisps of hair around her face.

Her fingers grasped the edge of the duvet and pulled it higher, clutching it beneath her chin. Despite her initial trust, Rose suddenly felt very vulnerable in this position. One move, and he could roll atop her, pin her beneath his body, and she would be at a very clear physical disadvantage even if she fought back. Rose took a breath, willing her thoughts to calm down. This was John. Rationally, she knew he wouldn't do something like that. But fear wasn't always rational.

Tensing involuntarily, she edged away just a fraction, hoping her surge of fear didn't show. She had already made a fool of herself once tonight and didn't want to add another incident to the list. But John didn't move any closer. He didn't position himself to take advantage. He just gazed at her with a soft, open expression.

"Rose?" he breathed out.

She swallowed. "Yeah?"

"I'll never hurt you."

Four simple words. And despite her instincts, she believed every one. Her entire body relaxed, her grip on the duvet slackening.

"I know," Rose heard herself reply, realizing the truth of her words.

She let go of the duvet altogether, her hand resting freely in the space between them, next to his own. A wave of calm swept through her, and she allowed herself to close her eyes. Within minutes she was asleep.

-:-:-:-

The first shafts of daylight slanted in through the gleaming windowpanes, illuminating closed eyelids, seeking entry. Rose scrunched her eyes tighter in protest, turning her face into the pillow. Breathing deeply, her nostrils were permeated with a dose of warm, sleeping male. Sandalwood and tea. John.

Her eyes popped open, vision clearing rapidly to take in the sight of John sleeping beside her in the bed.

Memories of the night before came flooding back – the onslaught of fear brought on by her dream, her breakdown in its aftermath, and her needful, uncharacteristic request of John that had put them in this current position – what was now a very _close_ , very _intimate_ position.

Her brain kicked in to overdrive, registering every detail – the rise and fall of his chest beneath her resting palm; his own palm that lay atop her hand with his long, slender fingers spread slack; and the strong, masculine leg pressed to hers where she had evidently drawn up a knee to shift even closer, the coarse male hairs of his thigh tickling her smooth, bare shin. They were not completely entangled but they were certainly getting there.

Rose was suddenly thankful she'd at least worn a vest and shorts rather than a gown, which would have likely bunched at her waist and involved even more of her body in this…entwinement.

Rose flushed all the way down to her toes. They hadn't even been touching when she'd gone to sleep. Now she was practically sprawled atop him. She would have thought her innate reaction would have been to pull back in the night, hugging the edge of the mattress. Instead she was hugging _John_. It must have been some sort of natural human response, she reasoned, to seek out a warm and comfortable object in sleep, like cuddling the pillow or snuggling the blanket, the only difference here being that the warm and comfortable object happened to be…another person.

Rose shifted her leg first, hoping to return to her own side of the bed before John woke up and found her cuddling up to him like a needy child. Or…something decidedly less child-like.

As her leg drew back from his, John stirred a little, his brows scrunching together. She paused a minute. He remained asleep. Slowly, she began to slide her hand off his chest and out from beneath his own. He inhaled deeply through his nose, his slack hand tightening and fingers curling reflexively around hers. She froze as his brown eyes blinked droopily open.

So much for getting out of this with her dignity intact.

He swallowed and licked his dry lips, her eyes drawn to the lazy motion of his tongue as the man beside her came fully awake.

"Rose?" he croaked sleepily.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered.

The corners of his mouth turned down in a confused frown. "What?"

"Didn't mean to…that is…I sort of…" She tried to scoot back but he still had a hold of her hand.

"Mmm, yes," he hummed affirmatively in the back of his throat. A smile cracked on his lips, his voice low and rumbly. "I thought I'd dreamed it."

He turned toward her, their bodies coming even closer, then just as suddenly he pulled back, the sleepy smile transforming into a look of surprised realization as his hips shifted sharply away from her. "Erm…I…uh…should probably apologize, too."

"F-for what?" she asked, confused and frankly still entirely discomfited.

He darted a glance down his blanketed body and coughed, the tips of his ears turning pink. "Some things are…natural reactions. Even still…" Rather than elaborate he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "So…did you sleep okay? No more nightmares last night?"

Rose shook her head on the pillow, eyes dipping. "No more nightmares." Her shy eyes lifted back to his. "Thank you."

He gave her captive hand a soft squeeze before releasing it. "Rose, you certainly don't have to thank me. And I'm not going to make any presumptions, but…if you ever just…want me with you, all you have to do is ask."

She was cut off from attempting a reply by the blaring buzz of the alarm clock on the bedside table. She'd set it early knowing there would be prep work to attend to before tonight's party.

"Ah. That's our cue, I believe," John remarked.

Rose shut off the alarm and sat up, pulling the duvet with her, still feeling awkward and terribly exposed in the light of day, on every front. In the past few hours she'd placed herself in a position of greater vulnerability, both physically and emotionally, than she could recall having ever allowed. "Yeah…"

"Right, then. I'll just…" John pulled back the covers and stood, his hand absently ruffling through his already hopelessly mussed hair. He looked back at her over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth curving up in a slow smile. "Thank you for the pleasant dreams."

John padded out of the room then, leaving her staring after his boxer-clad, sleep-rumpled self. Rose sank back down in the bed, heaving out a long, unsteady breath. She didn't know if she would be ready to do _that_ again anytime soon. But she would file away the fact that he was willing for future reference.


	18. Chapter 17

**A/N** So sorry for the delay with this chapter! A busy work schedule got in the way. But onwards…

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

Welcoming a distraction from thoughts of her breakdown the night before, Rose busied herself the next day by helping with various last-minute preparations for the night's party. She didn't have much experience when it came to the ins and outs of organizing formal affairs, but she figured she could manage a checklist well enough and offered a hand with the task. Once everything was in order – caterers on hand, hors d'oeuvres plated, champagne chilled – Rose turned her attention to personal preparations, concentrating her focus on matters of hairstyle and makeup selection as she sat down at the vanity table upstairs and readied herself for the occasion.

Despite the outward distractions and attempts to put the previous night's incident out of her mind, its looming presence still persisted, lurking like a gloomy cloud at the periphery of her thoughts. She would have liked to think that type of thing would never happen again, but she had experienced panic attacks and emotional breakdowns long enough to know better. Once upon a time she had been resigned to it. Even in denial of it to a certain extent. Now, though, she couldn't simply pretend it didn't exist, and she _hated_ being this way. Hated not knowing when she might fall apart again.

Was this to be her life, wondering when the next dam would break? Wondering when the next trigger would set her off? Wondering when John would tire of trying to help her pick up the pieces in the aftermath?

It had been different before. She had simply avoided, as best she could, the triggers that roused her fears. But now there were certain things and situations she could no longer avoid. Waking in John's arms had been proof of that. She was drawn to him in ways she could neither define nor deflect, which both soothed and terrified her. He created an emotional paradox inside her, simultaneously provoking and easing her fears. She was learning to draw comfort and security from his presence; his proximity. But _only_ if strictly platonic.

What would happen if he ever again tried to cross the lines of intimacy? What would happen if she ever wanted to try and…allow it?

Rose nearly dropped her mascara wand, taken aback by her own thoughts that had strayed _far_ into unfamiliar, uncharted territory. Where had _that_ come from? She knew exactly where. Truth was, it wasn't just thoughts of her breakdown that had preoccupied her mind all day. Thoughts of John had distracted her as well, reliving what it had felt like to sleep beside the solid warmth of his body and to wake in the sheltering protection of his arms. Rose wanted him close to her again, she realized, with a sense of yearning that ached deep within her chest. She had seen little of him today, both busy with preparations, and she found herself…missing him. Wanting him near. She wanted his touch warming her skin and his scent filling her lungs and…

And yet, she wanted these things because she craved the comfort she was coming to associate with it. If he made another move toward the type of physical intimacy he had attempted on their "honeymoon," she was afraid it might re-ignite her fears and shatter her newfound sense of safety. And then where would they be? Back at square one, with the knowledge that they might never move forward.

This wasn't fair to John, she knew. She wanted him close but no closer. How could that last in the long run? Rose simply didn't know. Would he always settle for just being her friend? Would…she? Or would the frustrations of always being held back finally become too much for both of them to endure?

Applying the final touches to her makeup, Rose re-capped the mascara, pausing pensively as her left ring finger glinted in the overhead light of the vanity. Rose gazed once again at the wedding band encircling her finger, pondering all that it symbolized…and all it did not. Her thoughts went to that of another ring – the one John had removed from his own finger and placed in her hand, entrusting her with its fate. A fate that was still so uncertain.

She thought of tonight, and a new question arose. Should she return his ring for the occasion? Would it be expected? Its absence noticed? The thought of returning John's ring to him tossed her about in waves of conflicting emotion. What if he read more into the significance of it than she was ready or able to commit to? Yet if she continued to withhold it, how long would it be before he gave up waiting altogether?

Drawing a breath, Rose tried to clear her mind of all these complicated thoughts. For now, it was time to play the role she had agreed to for the sake of John's friends and acquaintances who were set to arrive at any moment. He deserved for her to make an honest effort tonight, and she intended to do just that. Despite her initial reluctance toward the party, Rose found herself wanting to make a good impression tonight. She couldn't offer John much in return just yet, but she could do this much, at least. She wanted to give him a reason to be proud of her, she realized. She wanted to be proud of herself.

Rose stood from the vanity table and untied the sash of her white cotton robe as she moved toward the tall mahogany wardrobe that held her newly-purchased gown for tonight's occasion. Rose opened the double doors of the armoire and drew out the long garment of deep blue silk. She shed her robe and stepped into the lavish gown. Rose moved in front of the floor-length mirror, assessing herself as she adjusted the dress, smoothing the waist and straightening the skirt.

It was one of the fanciest frocks she'd ever worn, and she hoped it would do for the occasion. The long, sapphire blue silk accentuated her curves through the fitted bodice and elongated her form as it flowed to her ankles, while the three-quarter sleeves of delicate blue lace added a touch of alluring elegance. She chose to wear her hair up in a stylish chignon, her pinned-up golden tresses leaving her neck and shoulders bare, highlighting the scalloped lace edge of the dipping neckline.

Too much? Not enough? She hadn't sought advice on her choice, wanting to feel capable of doing something on her own. Yet a girl from a council estate wasn't exactly accustomed to dressing for such occasions, and Rose hoped this wasn't too far off the mark. Her thoughts, however, were not on what the guests would think of her, but on John, hoping for his approval. Inwardly hoping for him to be…pleased. With the dress. With her.

For a brief instant, Rose pictured making an entrance like a scene out of a film, him waiting at the bottom of the staircase as she descended, his deep brown eyes making her feel…not ogled, no. But…well…adored. It was childish and fanciful and not the sort of fantasy she'd ever before entertained, but her mind involuntarily conjured the scene just the same.

A scene that was _not_ , it seemed, going to happen. Because Rose couldn't even get the bloody dress zipped. She twisted and contorted, managing to get the little metal closure about three-fourths the way up her back, but the final bit was proving impossible to reach due to the snug fit of the garment through the torso, and she did _not_ want to risk disastrously splitting a seam by twisting too far.

Rose contemplated the problem for a full minute, biting her thumbnail as she stared at the connecting door to John's workshop. She'd heard him moving about inside, and she knew he was in there getting ready himself. It would be a simple matter to just knock and ask for a hand. Or rather, it _should_ be a simple matter. But…

Rose huffed out a breath, deciding she was being ridiculous in overthinking this. Knowing she couldn't stand here all night, Rose approached the door to John's connecting room and knocked softly, trying to ignore the nervous little fluttering in her belly.

"Rose?" she heard his muffled voice call out on the other side.

"Um…yeah. It's me. I just need…"

"Hang on. Coming…"

A beat later the door opened, John's face appearing concerned, hands absently finishing the knot in his bowtie. "Everything all right, Rose?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just…" She broke off, distracted by the way he was now staring, mouth slightly agape, wide eyes traveling the length of her. It wasn't quite the reaction she had pictured. And yes, she _had_ pictured it, him all suave and gentlemanly…not gawping like a fish. "Is something wrong? Do I…do I look okay?" she asked, voice anxious, feeling terribly self-conscious and uncertain. "'M not used to this sort of thing. Dressing for formal parties, I mean. And–"

"You look _amazing_ ," he breathed out.

Rose felt blood rush to her face, tiny capillaries widening beneath her pinkening skin as she flushed, eyes dipping shyly. "Oh," she uttered dumbly. "Uh…thanks." Her eyes lifted, taking note of his own appearance, from the artfully tousled hair to the perfectly fitted tux. "So d'you," she blurted, then felt her cheeks grow hotter. "I mean, the…the tux looks good on you."

At the sight of him, liquid warmth bubbled up deep inside her and spread, settling low in her belly. It unnerved her. The response was entirely involuntary; out of her control. It wasn't the first time she'd felt something similar in John's presence, but this type of reaction seemed to be growing stronger and more frequent.

"You think?" he asked, seeming to preen just a little, one brow arching _just so_. In that moment, she was quite certain the man _knew_ he looked good and could develop quite the ego if stroked.

"Well, if you overlook the trainers," she regained her footing and quipped. Despite unresolved issues and relentless tension, they were starting to recapture a small bit of the natural ease between them, and the prospect delighted her.

" _Oi!_ " his mock-indignant voice managed to draw out to at least three syllables. "This is Geek Chic, Rose." He sniffed and lifted his chin. "Fashionable _and_ functional."

"Is there ever a time you _don't_ wear Chucks?" she asked with a snicker.

"Never to bed. But then…you already know that." The suggestive statement seemed to have slipped out unbidden, his hand hastening to tug on his ear as he coughed and abruptly changed the subject. "Erm…you said you needed something?"

"Oh, yeah…um…I just need a hand with…" She gestured behind her. He lifted an eyebrow. "The zipper. Can't quite reach it."

His second eyebrow joined the first. "Oh! Of course. That age-old problem of women the world over. Of women whose cultures include zippered clothing, that is. Not every culture does, of course. Not every culture even wears– Right! Zipper. Erm…here. Let's get a bit more light…"

She followed him further into the room, the cozy, wood-paneled space an eclectic merging of library, lounge and lab. And, most recently, John's makeshift bedroom, evidenced by the telltale signs of an extended stay – a stray black sock and blue swirly tie dangling off the arm of the leather couch; an electric razor perched on the fifth shelf of the bookcase, between Quantum Physics and Shakespeare; a blue pinstriped suit hanging on the back of the door; and, as she'd suspected he must have, an impressive collection of Converse trainers in various colors, lined beneath the steel worktable in what appeared to be the "tinkering section" of the room.

He led her toward said worktable, situated beneath the window on the far side of the room. He reached for the lamp clipped to the edge of the metal surface and clicked it on, angling the flexible steel arm toward them. He then reached in his breast pocket and pulled out his black-rimmed spectacles, slipping them on in preparation for the task. He looked like he was about to undertake a scientific endeavor, her zipper the intended object of his careful examination.

"'S just a zipper," she said, a bit nervously.

"One can never be too careful. Wouldn't want to catch your delicate epidermis or…erm…delicate underthings…in those nasty little metal teeth. Now then…"

He stepped behind her, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck to move the wispy little tendrils of hair that escaped her up-do out of the way. The light caress caused gooseflesh to rise and scatter across her skin. She hoped he hadn't noticed the uncontrolled response. He was noticing something else, it seemed. Rose started at the feel of one finger laying a delicate touch to her spine, atop a tiny little mole. At once, she felt as if it was her bare back, and not the zipper, that held his sole focus.

"We match," he murmured. "Though mine's a bit higher, right between the shoulder blades..."

"W-what?" she stammered, wholly distracted by the soft stroking of his fingertip to her skin.

John removed his finger and cleared his throat. "Erm…nothing. Sorry. Easily distracted, me."

He wasted no more time, tugging the zip upward with a soft whooshing sound, long fingers brushing her skin on the journey, this time causing a tingle to ripple from the base of her spine to the top of her skull.

"There, now," he quietly assessed. "Perfect."

Rose turned back to face him, shy eyes finding his. "Thanks."

"My pleasure."

Her gaze broke from the rising intensity of his, darting about the room in search of a needed distraction from the tension that had crept into the close space between them.

"So…you…uh…work in here?" Rose grimaced at the stupidity of her own question. "I mean…take your projects home with you? That sort of thing?"

He cast a cursory glance about. "Mmm, sometimes, yes. But most of my work done in here is just a hobby. Odds and ends for personal use, household upgrades, that sort of thing. I like to tinker."

"Really?" she asked in mock-surprise. "I never would have guessed." Rose looked a little more closely at the metallic components currently strewn atop the worktable, spotting parts that suspiciously resembled a toaster, once upon a time. "Household upgrade?" she asked, lifting a mangled piece of the gutted remains.

"Oh, yes!" he beamed back in pride. "Once I've finished, it will not only produce a perfect piece of toast _every_ time, with optimum crumb to crisp ratio, but will also receive radio signals from around the globe, with a receiver incorporated into the timing circuit and tuner integrated into the browning control. You can make breakfast and keep up with world events all in one go."

"Well, that's certainly…efficient," she remarked.

"Isn't it just!"

Rose couldn't help but grin, glancing once more about the room and its various works in progress. Her eyes landed on a curious item in the far corner, with dimensions about as high and wide as a shower stall. The tall, box-shaped object stood off to itself, draped beneath a concealing gray sheet.

She nodded toward the veiled object. "What's that, then? Secret project?"

John glanced in the general direction she indicated, tilting his head in question. "Hmm?"

"In the corner," she clarified. "The tall…box thing."

He drew his brows together as if in confusion. Oddly, he didn't quite seem to perceive what she was indicating.

Her curiosity and any further conversation were both cut short by the distant swell of chatter drifting up from downstairs as the first of the guests began to arrive.

Rose stood a little straighter and drew a breath. "I s'pose we better get going. Might seem a bit rude not to attend our own party."

John touched her arm, drawing her gaze. "Thank you for going along with this."

She gave a small shrug, feeling embarrassed at being thanked for something so small in the scheme of things. "Figured it was the least I could do."

"You don't owe me anything, Rose," he replied, voice earnest.

She gazed back at him, this man who by rights could have thrown her in prison, but instead offered her his home and his heart and now time. Time to decide if she could accept either. "I think maybe I do…"

Not pressing the fragile topic, he simply offered her his hand. "Shall we?"

She slipped her hand into his warm, encompassing one. "Yeah."

They crossed back through to the bedroom, pausing at the door before leaving.

"Are you nervous?" John asked.

Rose considered the question a moment. She was anxious, yes, feeling that stimulating little rush of adrenaline that accompanied new situations, but she was not nervous per say, which surprised her. She'd expected her nerves to be working overtime at this first formal affair as Mrs. John Smith, but it was as if she had a newfound sense of assurance. John was by her side and she trusted him. She might not be ready to consider him her _husband_ , nor did she know if she ever could. But she was coming to accept him as her friend. A true, close friend unlike any she'd ever had. It was that sense of solidarity that gave her added confidence in approaching this evening.

"I probably should be," Rose admitted. "But I'm not."

John gave her hand a supportive squeeze. "Of course you're not. You have no reason to be."

"I dunno about that," she corrected, as they proceeded out of the room. "I could probably think of a reason or two."

"True," he agreed easily enough. "But I could counter every one of them."

They paused at the top of the staircase, and she looked at him. "That so?" Rose kept her voice light, but a trace of uncertainty edged her tone.

"Of course it is," he affirmed, and together they descended the stairs to greet the gathering of early arrivals. "For starters, you're one of the most beautiful and clever here, the envy of every woman and the desire of every man." She felt her face flush at that. He paused and winked. "Plus you're with _me_ , so that should up your confidence tenfold."

She chuckled despite herself. "Considering it's rolling off you in waves, I s'pose it should."

Rose glanced toward the main parlor as they made their way down, eyes sweeping over the assembly of guests who were beginning to meet and mingle. And Wilfred, ever the social butterfly, was already in the thick of it. She spotted a few she knew from TARDIS Corporation, including Sarah Jane and Jackson and his wife, but the rest were new to her. "I don't recognize half of 'em," she quietly noted.

"To be honest, there are bound to be a few I don't recall the names of myself," John admitted. "But just turn that smile of yours on them and they'll adore you."

Rose wondered how many times he would make her flush this evening, but kept her responding voice casual. "That your method, then?"

He flashed his own winning smile. "Of course! Works every time."

She smiled back reflexively. "I'm sure it does."

The smile soon fell from her face as they reached the bottom of the stairs and were met by Reinette. Despite her formal gown, Rose almost felt underdressed in comparison to the other woman's extravagant gown of flowing gold brocade. Though it was Reinette who was a bit underdressed in the cleavage department, her low, revealing neckline barely containing her full breasts on the verge of spilling over.

Rose felt herself stiffen involuntarily. Despite the tension between the two, however, Rose knew she should try to be gracious, considering the woman's help in organizing the party. The courteous gesture still surprised Rose. But she figured the society-born woman had that sort of thing in her blood and couldn't resist any chance to put it to use.

"I see you've both decided to join the party, at last," Reinette said by way of greeting. "I thought perhaps Rose was having second thoughts. This sort of thing must be so new and overwhelming to someone like you, dear."

Rose felt her hackles rise at the condescending remark, and she jabbed back before thinking the better of it. "Oh, I dunno. I've been getting a lot of practice interacting with snobs."

Reinette's features hardened. Rose clamped her mouth shut, glancing at John and hoping she hadn't overstepped the bounds of decorum when seconds before she'd made up her mind to remain civil. And Reinette, unpleasant as she could sometimes be, was a long-standing family acquaintance and guest in John's home. But one look at his face and the expression of prideful approval told her she need not worry.

"Always happy to oblige. Eh, Reinette?" John said, failing to suppress a smirk.

The woman's face transformed from one of offense to one of cold, menacing spite. "Oh, of course. You know I make it my ambition to be helpful, as you and I recently discussed. And tonight is no exception. I'm quite sure my contribution will make this a night to remember."

With that, she turned and strode back toward the entry hall, greeting new guests as they arrived.

Rose glanced down. "Should've known she'd gloat about her help with all this. I…I s'pose I should've stepped up and done more myself. I _would_ have. But, well, I don't really know the first thing about planning these sort of posh gatherings." She flicked her eyes back to his and shrugged. "I can learn, though.

He turned a warm smile on her. "Of course you can. But like I said once before, you don't have to feel confined to the duties of being a society hostess."

She considered her reply before answering with honesty. "It's a part of your life, though. And if I'm… Well, if I'm gonna be here for the time being, it's something I should learn."

They regarded each other at length, John's eyes infinitely tender; infinitely hopeful. His soft expression turned to stone the instant his attention shifted to the next couple being ushered in by Reinette.

Rose followed his alarmed gaze, her hand instinctively squeezing John's in a death grip of horror as Harold and Lucy Saxon stepped through the door.


	19. Chapter 18

**A/N** John and Rose face an unexpected guest.

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

At the alarming sight of Harold Saxon, Rose's blood ran cold in her veins. Instinctively, she spun on her heel, turning her back to conceal her face. "No," she rasped in panic. "Not him. Oh, _please_ not him. _Why_?"

John's voice sounded equally distressed. "I don't know. I knew nothing about this. I would _never_ invite him to this house."

"It was Reinette," Rose realized. Of course it was. "That's why she was so eager to help with the arrangements for the party. The _guest_ list. I should have known!"

" _I_ should have known," John grit through clenched teeth. "But I _will_ protect you from him. I swear. Right now we just have to keep calm and get through this."

"I've got to get away," she insisted, panicking. "Somewhere. Anywhere. _Now_."

John darted a look over her shoulder. "There isn't time. He's already making his way toward us."

Rose squeezed his hand and clutched at his arm with the other. "What am I gonna do?"

"Just…deny ever seeing him," John quickly directed. "Right now he can't prove otherwise. I'll corroborate whatever you say."

She had no other choice. Rose drew a shallow breath and turned around on shaking legs. This was going to have to be the performance of a lifetime.

Saxon was headed straight for them, that intrinsic, leering grin already in place as his eyes latched onto her. "Well, well. What have we here? I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting your lovely new wife." He addressed John but kept his eyes on Rose, looking her up and down appreciatively.

"This is Rose," John introduced, voice deceptively calm and cordial.

Saxon studied Rose's body appraisingly, the salacious grin falling from his face as he finally took her own face in, eyes tracing her features with a look of dawning recognition. A look that made her stomach twist. "Well…hello. _Rose_ , you say?"

Rose felt her mouth tremble as she tried to force it up into a smile. "Yes. Hello. It's…nice to meet you." She flicked her eyes to his wife, who hung back a step. "Both of you."

"So you're the new Mrs. Smith, hm? Quite the blonde bombshell," he pointedly commented. "Though I imagine you'd be equally striking as a brunette…" Rose swallowed. The corner of his mouth twitched in a fiendish smirk, seeming to detect her suppressed reaction. "I was surprised to learn John had married so unexpectedly. He certainly kept this all…hush-hush until now. But why would you keep _this_ one a secret?" He looked back at John. Rose felt his hand tighten around hers. "Then again, I suspect you're rather good at keeping secrets."

John let go of Rose's hand, shifting to put an arm around her waist and draw her close to his side. She welcomed the security of his tight hold like an anchor in a tumultuous sea. "I'm hardly keeping Rose a secret. Part of the reason for tonight was so I could celebrate my undeserved good fortune."

Saxon continued eyeing Rose with dangerous scrutiny. "Indeed. A woman like this is certainly one to hold on to. Tightly. They slip away so easily otherwise." There was a tense pause as Rose waited for the ax to fall. "I think I know the type well. In fact…," he paused, his gaze intensifying, "…I have the distinct feeling we've met before…"

"No, I don't think so," Rose answered in as calm a voice as she could manage.

"Maybe you should think again," he pressed, voice hardening. He reached for his wife and pulled her to him. "Lucy recognizes you, too. Don't you, my darling?"

The woman on his arm gave Rose a disinterested glance. Rose held her breath. "You meet so many women, Harry. It's hard to remember them all."

Saxon shot his wife an acrid look.

Reinette came over then, eyeing the group with a sort of wicked satisfaction. "Ah, it sounds like you know Rose _already_. How lovely." She turned to Saxon and his wife. "I'm still getting acquainted with John's new wife myself, learning more each day."

John's sharp eyes locked with Reinette's. She smiled back slowly.

"I am _very_ interested in getting to know Rose better myself," Saxon said, eyes never leaving Rose. "There must be a very intriguing story behind how you both met, and then to marry so…quickly."

"Ah, but it was a long time in coming," John deflected. "Rose and I have actually known each other…oooh, let's see…over three years now."

"What?" Reinette spluttered, thrown by this. "You mean…while you and Joan were still…?"

John nodded casually. "Mm, yes. Didn't you know? She and Rose got on quite well, actually. I doubt there was anyone else she'd rather I'd remarried." All stared at him. "Now then! We have so many guests to greet. Rose and I best continue circulating or we'll appear terribly rude. Excuse us, won't you?"

Without another word, he and Rose walked away arm-in-arm.

"Did you have to say _that_?" Rose hissed. "Now they all think–"

"I don't bloody care what they think," he bit out.

Her voice shook. "H-he's not convinced. Not for one minute. I can tell."

John stopped and looked her in the eyes, his own dark and stormy. "Don't worry about Saxon. I'll handle him."

"But…"

"I'll _handle_ him."

-:-:-:-

John managed to steer Rose clear of Saxon throughout the night, dodging the probing questions that could only lead to more trouble. This wasn't the relief to Rose that it should have been, though. Saxon could have made more of an effort to corner her for a little chat, but he didn't. He just…watched her. That was almost worse than outright accusations. She feared that meant he was quietly planning. Scheming.

All throughout dinner, Rose avoided the man's gaze, but she could feel it nonetheless, cold and calculating. The one person she had hoped to never see again, the one she had dared to cross, was here in her midst and emanating quiet vengeance. He was not the type of man to forget someone who had wronged him. He would have his retribution at the cost of her head.

At the other end of the table was Reinette, looking entirely too pleased and entirely too knowing. How much _did_ she know? What else might she throw Rose's way? How could she remain under the same roof with this woman who was now laying deliberate traps?

It was all too much. She should have known she would never be able to put the past behind her and move on, Rose thought. It would hunt her wherever she went. This was to be her punishment, she supposed.

It was all Rose could do to swallow down food, her stomach twisting in protest with every forced bite. Beside her, John occasionally caught her eye, offering a reassuring smile or squeeze of the hand under the table, but she knew that he, too, must surely be as distressed as she over this unwelcome turn of events. He was playing it calm because he had to. Yet he _shouldn't_ have to. He shouldn't have to be involved in any part of this. But thanks to their entanglement, she now wasn't the only one at stake here.

She feared that John could be charged as an accessory after the fact if it came out that he knew about her past. Becoming tangled in John's life never felt like more of a mistake than now. He had already risked himself for her. She couldn't continue to put him in jeopardy. As long as she was here, he was at risk. For all she knew, Saxon might call the police before the night was through.

The only option was to get away as soon as possible, for both her _and_ John's sake.

-:-:-:-

As the evening grew late and the party wound down, Rose took the first available opportunity to slip upstairs and pack. There was nothing else to be done.

She changed out of her dress and into a plain black jumper and jeans, stripping off any naive illusion she'd had about this night just hours before. Her mind was awhirl and her vision a blur as she hastily tossed a few belongings into a rucksack. She would go and never look back. It was the only way. John didn't need any of this. He didn't need to take such a risk for a woman with a thousand tons of baggage who couldn't even be a real wife to him in return.

Mixed somewhere in the swirl of regret, anger resurfaced and collided with her guilt as she thought of how John had willingly ensnared himself. _Why_ couldn't he have just let her go in the first place? She swallowed forcibly, encountering a hard lump in the process. He had told her why. But why had _she_ allowed herself to stay this long? When they returned from the cruise, he was prepared to let her walk out of his life then and there if she chose. Yet here she was. And look what had come of it.

Rose had nearly finished her hurried packing when the door to the bedroom flew open. She gasped and whirled around to see John stalking toward her, shoving the door closed behind him.

His eyes, a dangerous brew of hurt and anger, flit from her to the rucksack. "Five bloody minutes alone and you're already packed, ready to slip out like a thief in the night!"

She held her ground. He _had_ to see reason and let her go. "Appropriate, don't you think? 'Cause that's what I am."

He shook his head with vehemence. "No. That might have been something you did in the past, but that was never who you were as a person. And that's not who you are now." The hard edge to his tone softened as his voice cracked with pain. His pain, Rose realized, was a thousand times worse than his anger. "Rose, I thought you and I…that I was starting to…to _mean_ something to you. That you–"

She couldn't hear the rest. This was already hard enough. "John, I _have_ to get away. Can't you see that? You have to let me," she pleaded. "Saxon is gonna see to it that I end up in jail…at the very least. Don't you realize that? He's the type of man who won't be satisfied until he gets blood."

John's hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles turning white. "Well, he's not going to get it. He's not going to get _you_. I won't let him. I told you, I'll handle him."

Rose would have given anything for that to be true. But how could it? "How could you possibly stop him? He's got the law on his side."

John snorted derisively. "A man like him? I sincerely doubt it. One could likely dig up just as much dirt in his own past. _And_ present. And while he may have an appetite for revenge, he also has an appetite for business. So that's what we'll appeal to. TARDIS Corporation is one of the largest accounts his firm has. If he decides to behave like the devil that he is, he'll not only lose out on my account, but I'll see to it that other firms follow. I have a bit of influence, and I also have the ear of a great deal of Britain's executives. If he needs reminding of this, I'm happy to do so."

Rose paced the room, wanting to believe this was a way out but finding it hard, considering the obstacles. "Even if you can twist his arm into not prosecuting, he can still talk and spread accusations."

John stepped close and placed a stilling hand on her shoulder, drawing her eyes to his. "So let him talk. It doesn't matter what others may think."

Rose blanched. She couldn't stomach the thought of her past becoming known, of her mum potentially finding out about her former ways. She didn't want her mum knowing about _any_ of this. But if she told John that now, if he found out she had lied to him about her mum, she feared that might be the final straw for him. She could lose the one friend she'd had in all this, along with the trust he had begun to place in her, however undeserved.

She shook her head, thinking of yet another reason why staying and risking Saxon's vocal venom could prove disastrous. "But don't you see how bad that would be? If it all comes out, others from similar jobs I've pulled could come after me."

John took a breath, his hand sliding from her shoulder to fall at his side. "I've not yet asked this, hoping to just move forward instead. But…I knew I'd have to eventually. Rose, how many other jobs have there been? More than Saxon? And…me?"

Rose looked away, ashamed. "I'm so sorry, John. But you knew what I was."

" _Was_ ," he emphasized. "It's in the past, but I have to know so we can deal with this. Rose…?"

With reluctance, she looked up. "There was a…Henry Van Statten. That was the first."

His tone remained calm and measured. "And after that?"

"Lumic Corporation," she mumbled. "Then Saxon. And that's why I have to get away now before they _all_ come after me."

He breathed out heavily. "So I just let you run?"

" _Yes_! It's the only way. You said you wouldn't try to stop me if I wanted to go."

"I didn't say I wouldn't try to talk sense into you if you were about to do something foolish. You run now, and you'd never be able to stop. Never. You'd live a life of running, assuming you even managed it. Do you think that's the best solution?"

"It's the best solution for _you_. Otherwise if I stayed, they'd come after you, too. But if I go, you can say that you just now learned of all this, and when you did I ran away. If you try to protect me then you automatically implicate yourself."

His voice rose as his hand thrust into his hair, tugging thick tufts in his fist. "So I'm just supposed to leave you to fend for yourself? Your real name is known now, Rose. They'll trace it back, do a complete work-up on you and throw all of Scotland Yard on your trail, leaving no one from your past who you could contact or turn to. They'd find them all, Rose."

She was trembling now. "That's my problem, not yours."

He moved closer, voice dropping to a low, gentle timbre. "It's _our_ problem. I knew what I was getting into with all this. For better or worse, remember? But all we have to do is stay calm and approach this logically. Right now the only thing we have to fight is Saxon's mouth. He hasn't said or done anything yet. That means he's thinking…planning. That gives us time. And with that time we've got two options: We get a lawyer and a corroborating psychiatrist and make a swift and voluntary confession along with an offer of restitution to all involved parties. All would become public, but the odds are very favorable that you would get a suspended sentence under the circumstances. The other option is to go privately to the others you've crossed. You would show your utmost remorse while I would show them a check to cover all prior losses. If that worked and satisfied all involved, then no one else would have to know. With luck, we'd come out okay in either of these scenarios."

She stared at him. "You'd actually do that? Pay each one back? For me? After what you've already anonymously paid out to Saxon?"

"Rose, answer me one thing: Do you ever plan to steal again?"

She squeezed her eyes shut against the very idea. "God, no. I've made a mess of my entire life. And now yours, too."

Her eyes opened in time to see a smile of relief cross his face. "If you've reached the point of genuinely feeling that way, then every penny I'd spend would be worth it. I don't plan to finance habitual stealing. That's not what my support is about. But I _do_ plan to help you through this just as I've promised."

Rose stood silent, unsure of what to say.

"Give it some thought," he continued. "And we'll decide tomorrow how to proceed. Okay?"

"I…" Rose paused and drew a breath. Maybe she did need time to stop and think rationally. "Okay."

"Good. Now, try to put this out of your mind for now and just get some sleep. You need to be rested tomorrow for the ride."

She gaped at him. "How can I possibly show my face for that tomorrow? Saxon's been invited back here with all the others!"

"And that's exactly why you _should_ participate. I want you out of the house when he comes back so I can talk to him privately. And I also wouldn't want to give Reinette the pleasure of seeing you turn tail and run, confirming her suspicions. I'd confront her this very minute about her inviting Saxon here, but that would be admitting to the fact that there was a reason to avoid him. Right now we have to play it calm and collected in front of all involved, as if there's nothing at all wrong here."

Rose drew a shallow breath. Pretending nothing was wrong was _not_ going to be easy, considering she felt like a noose was tightening around her neck.

John's voice lowered again, words gentle and soothing. "I'm not abandoning you to this, Rose." She closed her eyes, feeling the burn of gathering tears. She heard him shift closer, voice a quiet murmur. "Please don't try to leave. Stay with me. Stay with me and we'll get through this. Together."

She opened her watery eyes but could not bring them to his. "You shouldn't be tangled up in all this."

"It's a bit late for that."

"I'm sorry."

He hooked a finger under her chin, drawing her gaze up. "I'm not."

She stared at him searchingly. "How can you say that?"

John gave a fleeting smile. "Someday I hope you'll understand the reason for that without even having to ask."


	20. Chapter 19

**A/N** John confronts Saxon, while Rose is pushed to one final breaking point.

* * *

 **Chapter 19**

With obvious reluctance, Rose joined in the riding activity the next morning as John had encouraged. Before she'd headed out, he had again tried to assure her that everything was under control and she had nothing to worry about. He could only hope that would prove true. Regardless, he meant it when he said he wasn't going to abandon her to this.

John now paced back and forth in his downstairs office, trying to plan just what he would say to Harold Saxon, the man set to arrive at any moment. He had phoned Saxon early that morning, requesting to meet with him privately at the house. Saxon had agreed, the brief exchange telling John little of the man's mindset and what to expect from him. He would learn soon enough. John already suspected he could not appeal to Saxon's mercy, so he could only hope that appealing to his bank account would be enough. Even if he succeeded, John feared it wasn't going to come easily.

 _None_ of this was coming easily. Once this weekend was behind them, John had planned to focus his attention to the issue of Jackie Tyler, believing that the woman was the key to getting to the bottom of Rose's past. He hadn't bargained on Saxon cropping back up in the midst of all this. And just when Rose had finally seemed to be making some bit of progress.

And then there was Reinette. He had learned earlier in the week of her level of petty jealousy toward Rose and endured her juvenile attempts to sway him, causing him to consider going back on his promise by turning her out once and for all, despite having given his word to Joan that her younger half-sister could stay on until she had finished her studies. But then she had become surprisingly civil with Rose, if short-lived, and offered her help with the party. Now he knew why. And now he knew the level she would stoop to. Once Saxon was sorted in one way or another, he would turn his attention to sorting her.

The doorbell rang and John stiffened. Time to face the day's first hurdle.

John walked to the entry and opened the door, revealing the menacing smirk of Harold Saxon on the other side. An involuntary shiver went down John's spine, and he had the brief sense that his enmity with this man far preceded this day.

Saxon cocked his head, the smirk spreading to take over both sides of his mouth in a devious upward curl of lips. "So, you want some alone time with me, hm? I'm touched."

"Come in," John said, toneless.

Saxon stepped inside, and John wordlessly led the way to his private office, closing the door behind them once inside. Simply having this man in his home made John's skin crawl, and he deliberately took a seat behind his desk on the far side of the room. He'd never cared for Saxon in the past, but he knew his job when it came to tax consulting and had served the purpose. John supposed he should actually be glad for their prior association. It gave him a chance to understand the adversary a little better, removing any naive notion that this would be easy.

"Would you like a drink?" John offered, attempting to remain cordial, at least on the surface.

Saxon helped himself to the leather armchair nearest him, reclining as if perfectly at home. "I think you already know what I'd like. Let's just get down to negotiations, shall we?"

Fine by him. John dropped the pretense, eager to get this done. "You've already been paid back," John reminded him. "So technically there shouldn't be anything to negotiate."

The man's eyes glinted. "Ah, so that _was_ you? I suspected as much after discovering last night who your new bride was. The anonymous… _donation_ finally made sense."

John continued on. "I'm prepared to offer you another sum in order to put this fully behind us."

Saxon leaned forward in the chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes narrowed. "You think it's that simple, do you? That lying little thief of yours tried to make a fool out of me. That's not something I'm going to simply forget." In contrast to his malicious words, his voice was light. Almost amused. He was enjoying this, John realized.

John stood and circled around the desk, perching on the edge, arms folded, forcing control into his tone. "If you're any sort of a businessman, then yes, you _will_ forget it. Unless you're prepared to lose not only the TARDIS Corporation account, but the others who will follow my lead."

Saxon scoffed. "Please. You think you'll have any sort of credibility when it comes out you've been harboring a swindler? No, more than that…" He lifted an accusing brow. "You _married_ one."

"Rose is not what you think," John insisted, unable to tolerate her being spoken of like that. He was not going to come right out and confirm what Rose had done, but he would defend her just the same. "Any psychotherapist can verify that."

"You're pleading insanity?" he laughed.

"She's been hurt," John persisted. "Traumatized by things in her past and she–"

"And you think you're going to…what? Make her better?" he taunted. "Of course you do. You always come across as so sanctimonious." Saxon spread his arms wide, voice mocking. "Your brilliance is going to revolutionize every avenue of technology, transform lives, and essentially save the world. Why not add a pitiful, misguided girl to the list?"

Ignoring this, John pushed off the desk and paced forward. "If you go public with accusations, it's not going to help _anyone_ , yourself included. Cooperation, on the other hand, would be to everyone's benefit."

Saxon was silent, but the shrewd gleam in his eye made John edgy. "I didn't say I wasn't willing to play," the man finally responded. "Why do you think I'm here? But let's be specific about the prize, shall we?"

John did not like the sound of those words, but he wanted to get this over with and at least know where they stood. "What is it you want?"

Saxon leaned forward, eyes locked with John's, voice low. "I want _her_."

"What?" John choked out.

"You heard me. I want her. That little Rose or Andrea or whatever it is she calls herself these days. I want her for one night, to do with as I please, to teach her that no one gets the upper hand on me."

Bile churned in John's stomach and hurled up his throat, forcing him to swallow it back down in order to get his words out. "You're insane," John seethed. "And far more disturbed than Rose has ever been."

Saxon chuckled. "Oh, come now. Do you honestly think you're any better? I've been doing some fact-checking, so let's see if I've got this right… She went to work for your company, then the next things everyone knows you've got a new wife on your arm. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together when one knows how the game is played. She tried to pull the same stunt on you, was caught, and you blackmailed her into your bed. One look at the way you drool when she's anywhere near and it's obvious you're mad for her. So you took the opportunity to claim her as your own, didn't you?" Saxon paused, letting the accusatory words seep into John's ears. "Only you didn't just want one night of payback. You wanted repeated reimbursement. I think my proposition is negligible by comparison."

John almost felt a physical blow as the words hit disturbingly close to the guilt and second thoughts he had experienced, causing him to relinquish his ring to Rose along with the right to wear it. He might have questioned his own methods, but he had never, _never_ intended her presence in his life to be some sort of sick payback. It took all of John's restraint not to deck the man then and there for suggesting as much.

"I _love_ Rose. I love her and I want to help her. I'm not using her for my own sadistic means or taking advantage because I think it's owed to me."

Saxon smiled crookedly. "Oh, aren't you? Perhaps you should re-evaluate your…relationship."

"You know _nothing_ of our relationship."

He sighed, as if bored. "And I truly don't care. All I care about is what _I_ want with her. Agree to that, and we can forget all of this unpleasantness. That's what you want, isn't it?"

John stalked closer. "Rose is not an object to be bartered with. And certainly not in _this_ perverted context. And I'm guessing your _wife_ wouldn't be too pleased about it, either."

Saxon laughed. "Lucy knows better than to object to _anything_ I want."

John's jaw tightened. Harold Saxon was more of a swine than he'd realized. He wanted this conversation over with and this man out of his sight. "I'm offering you additional financial compensation and _nothing_ more. Refuse, and your entire company will suffer. It's as simple as that."

Saxon stood, pacing forward until they were practically toe-to-toe. "And I'm offering a compromise that will appease me. Refuse, and I'll see to it that your precious Rose is locked away. It's as simple as that."

"Get out of my house," John bit out. "Stay away from Rose and never set foot on my property again."

Saxon smirked. "Ooh, so touchy. And so unwilling to share. I do believe I've hit a nerve. Someone's got it bad for a certain blonde, eh? Think it over. I'll give you forty-eight hours."

John marched to the door of the room, wrenching it open. "I said get out. That was not a request and I will not repeat it."

Harold Saxon strode out of the room and toward the front door of the manor. As his hand reached the latch on the door, he paused and looked back over his shoulder with a parting comment. "You might not care for my plan, but how do you know Rose wouldn't be willing to take my offer in order to safeguard her future? You say she's not yours to control. So why don't we see what _she_ has to say?"

John reached him in three long strides, glaring down as he snarled out his reply. "Come near Rose and I will break you in two."

Saxon's face twisted up in a grin. "Someone _is_ going to break, but it won't be me."

-:-:-:-

Rose had been one of the last to mount her horse that morning. The act of saddling and bridling, which she enjoyed doing herself and usually came as second nature, took extra time due to her fumbling fingers and lack of concentration. Even the prospect of riding could not bring Rose peace today. She simply couldn't escape the anxiety clawing at her gut from the inside out.

Saxon would be meeting with John while she was out. What would come of that meeting? What would become of her if the man could not be swayed to drop the past? She didn't want to go to prison. She didn't want everything to come out and for her mum to learn of the things she'd done. And she didn't want to further involve and compromise John.

Yet how could any of this be stopped? She feared it couldn't. As Rose mounted Lykos and headed out of the stable, she felt as if steel walls were closing in on her from all sides with no escape.

Around her, the sprawling grounds of Gallifrey were dotted with Smith family acquaintances who had returned to participate in today's activity. Rose glanced around for Wilfred, needing to see a familiar, friendly face. Instead her focus was caught by Reinette who had just mounted her own horse and was now trotting up alongside.

"I'd have thought you would need more time to…recuperate from the party last night," the woman remarked with a subtle smirk.

"Not at all," Rose answered back, refusing to give Reinette the satisfaction of knowing that her actions had any sort of consequence. "I'm a bit stronger than that." With that, Rose dug in her heels and brought Lykos forward in a swift gallop.

She rode ahead to join the group that was gathering at the starting point.

"Couldn't ask for a better day, eh?" Wilfred called out, trotting up alongside her. "Rain is supposed to start later on, but I think we'll have time to finish before the weather takes a turn."

Rose shifted in the saddle to turn toward Wilfred in reply, and froze the moment her eyes landed on the older man. He was outfitted in traditional breeches and riding coat for the occasion. A vivid red riding coat.

The flash of crimson caused an involuntary shiver of fear to slither down her spine.

No.

No, she would not break down again. Not now. Not today, when she was already fighting to keep it together.

Rose forced her eyes away, looking to the path ahead. There she saw more riders. More red coats. It was only a few interspersed throughout the crowd but her vision filled with it, as if suddenly drowning in a sea of crimson. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"You all right, sweetheart?" she heard Wilfred ask in a concerned tone.

She couldn't look at him. She couldn't look _anywhere_. She was surrounded and had nowhere to turn. Saxon was back at the manor. Reinette was gaining from the rear. And all around her crimson pervaded her vision. It was all too much. Too much.

Her throat tightened, constricting with every attempt to draw a breath. Cold sweat broke out on her brow, and her head felt like it was caught up in a cyclone. She had to get away from here. From all of this. She _had_ to.

Rose didn't even hear the concerned voices calling out behind her as she slapped the reins and took off in a mad charge.

She galloped at a wild pace, across open fields, through a thicket of trees, narrowly missing low-hanging branches as she charged ever forward. There was no destination in mind, only the driving need to outrun the sense of panic overtaking her. If she could go far enough, fast enough, maybe she could escape the fear closing in on her. Maybe then she could _breathe_.

A distant portion of her mind knew she was having a panic attack. A distant portion of her mind always knew, even if she didn't understand why. But neither the What nor the Why mattered at times like this. All that mattered was escaping it.

She was heedless of the terrain over which she flew, careening straight through a creek bed without even feeling the spray of water kicked up by Lykos' powerful hooves, the animal driven to go faster and harder, the black steed nearly as frantic as its rider.

It wasn't until a high stone fence became visible in the distance, surrounding the property of a small cottage, that Rose finally began to register her surroundings. Lykos continued charging at full speed toward the approaching wall of stone.

Regaining her wits and realizing what was coming, Rose tried to slow him down, pulling back on the reins, but it was too late. The only option the horse had was to attempt to jump the barrier. But the wall was too high and the horse too fatigued, dooming the maneuver before it was even attempted.

Lykos flew forward and up, tucking his powerful front legs beneath him as he launched himself and his rider in the air. His front end cleared by mere inches, but his back legs didn't stand a chance, striking the wall squarely. There was a sickening crunch as bone collided with stone. In the same instant, Rose was hurtled from the saddle and flung into the air like a ragdoll. She hit the ground with a painful thud, but she didn't even hear the sound of her own scream, drowned out as it was by the shrieking animal as it writhed in agony on the ground.

"Lykos!" she cried out, scrambling toward him. "No. _NO_!"

The horse lay crippled on the ground, thrashing wildly in anguish. Instinct took over, and Rose knew she could not let this poor creature suffer. She clambered to her feet and rushed toward the small cottage that lay within the border of the stone fence.

She ran up to the front entrance, pounding her fist against the wooden door. "Help me, please! Someone help!"

The door opened, revealing a bemused looking old woman on the other side. "What is it, Miss? What's wrong?"

"I…I need a gun! Do you have a gun? A shotgun, a pistol, anything? Please!"

The woman's eyes widened. "W-what? What are you on about?"

"It's my horse!" Rose sobbed. "He's hurt. He's _suffering_! Can't you hear him screaming? Oh, please!"

"Rose!" came another woman's voice from behind them. Reinette rode up, quickly dismounting her own horse. "What on earth have you done now?"

"Tell this woman to give me a gun!" Rose yelled. "Lykos is hurt! He's in agony!"

Reinette turned and saw the horse a few meters away, thrashing on the ground. "Then just…call a vet," she feebly suggested.

"There isn't time and there's nothing they could do!" Rose choked. "Can't you see he's suffering?"

"M-my husband has a pistol," the old woman said. "He's not here but I suppose he'd let you use it for an emergency." The woman disappeared from the doorway, then reemerged a moment later with the pistol. She held it out, her aged hand trembling.

"I'll do it," said Reinette, her voice now calm. Cool.

Rose turned blazing eyes on Reinette. "I'm sure you would. You'd love nothing more." Grabbing the pistol, Rose hurried back to her horse's side.

Lykos' agonized wails pierced the air as she raised the pistol, aimed, and fired.

At once, the anguished cries fell silent. The pistol slipped from her hand and hit the ground with a dull thud. Rose gazed down at the lifeless animal, feeling as if a chunk of her heart had been ripped from her chest, leaving behind raw emptiness where a small piece of love had once resided. She was left with nothing. She was always left with nothing.

She watched, unbreathing, as his life's blood flowed from his wound, a crimson river of her own making. She had destroyed him. Distantly, something whispered in her ear that this was what she did. This was who she was. She was a killer.

-:-:-:-

Rose's mind was in chaos. She wasn't even fully aware of taking Reinette's horse and riding off back toward Gallifrey Manor. She wasn't driven by reason. She was driven by the primitive instinct to run. Run from everything that was closing in on her, challenging her, pushing her to the brink. She had to get away. Away from this life. Away from being Rose.

John, she vaguely realized, had been the one to unknowingly make a provision for that.

" _There's a strongbox in my downstairs office in the lower right drawer of the desk, the key to which is at the top of the doorframe as you enter the room. There isn't much cash in there – a few thousand pounds – but it's an adequate emergency fund if ever needed."_

Her head was spinning and her heart racing as she stumbled through the front door. She staggered down the hallway toward John's office. With shaking hands, she opened the door, reached above it to find a key, and made straight for the desk.

Mind still whirling, she rummaged through the drawer where the strongbox was housed. Inside there was a false bottom that slid away to reveal the strongbox. Her blurry eyes locked onto the object of her mad search. That urge to take hold of whatever she could was pumping through her veins with every wild beat of her heart. This was her escape. It had always been her escape. She didn't have to be Rose Tyler. She could rise above everyone and everything, including herself, if only she had the means.

Rose removed the box and placed it on the desk with trembling hands. She inserted the key, and the lock on the strongbox clicked open. She lifted the lid to reveal a small stack of important documents to the right, a bundle of notes to the left, and nestled in the middle was what must have been some sort of heirloom – an old fob watch. She paused for a moment, her gaze oddly drawn to the silver timepiece. She reached a finger toward it, then paused and drew back, shaking herself out of whatever had pulled her focus.

Rose shifted her eyes to the stack of notes, her entire body shaking. She couldn't think about what she was about to do. She couldn't think about anything except getting away.

In that moment, the door to the room opened and John slipped in. She abruptly looked up, feeling dizzy. He approached her slowly.

"Rose?"

His voice sounded unnaturally distant, her hearing unfocused, ears buzzing. She didn't move. Her eyes flit from him down to the money, her hand still outstretched, her head whirling.

"It's all right," he soothed, moving closer. "It's going to be all right. Wilfred sent word from the ride about what happened. Everyone was worried about you. I am _so_ sorry, love. But it's going to be okay."

John came a few steps closer, his movements slow and cautious. "I know you're hurting. And I also know you're afraid. But when it comes to Saxon I am _not_ going to let him harm you in any way. We're going to work all of this out somehow. It's going to be okay. _You're_ going to be okay."

Rose remained frozen, almost as if in a trance, unable to pull back but unable to reach out and take the money. John's gaze followed hers down to the stack of notes.

"It's all right. You can take it. Take the money, Rose. You have a right to it. If it's mine then it's yours as well." He moved closer, voice now firm. "Take it, Rose."

She was immobilized. That urge to take, to seize, to run was at odds with the urge to turn and cling to John, to bury herself in this man and never let go.

He was right beside her now. Slowly, his hand came out and covered her own. He didn't pull her hand back. Instead he urged it forward, toward the money.

"Go on, Rose. Take it. It's rightfully yours. You can have it. I told you it was yours if you needed it. You can do what you've done in the past and take it if it gives you security and control. If that's what you need, then do it. You couldn't control everything else that's happened to you, but you can control _this_. So _take_ it. Go on. _Take_ it! See if this really helps you. Does it? Does this fix it, Rose?"

Rose squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming fast and hard. She went to pull back but he was holding her fast. She began fighting him then, trying to pull her hand free. She…she didn't want it. She didn't _need_ it. This wasn't what she needed anymore. She realized that with startling clarity.

"No!" Rose finally cried out. "No, I won't. I won't! I don't want it…I don't want it! I-I only want–" She spun around and buried her face into his chest.

His arms were around her in an instant, his low voice murmuring soothing sounds into her hair. "What is it, love? What is it you want?"

"I…I want to be safe. I don't want to be afraid anymore."

He held her tightly, arms enveloping her in a protective circle. "You _are_ safe. I swear to you, you're safe. You don't have to carry these fears anymore. And I'm going to see to it that you understand these feelings at last – these fragmented memories that have confused and haunted you. It can't wait any longer."

He slid his hands to her shoulders and eased her back, looking her square in the eye. "We're going to London. Now."


	21. Chapter 20

**A/N** And so we reach the point where the film version concluded. No more spoilers if you've been waiting to watch the movie. ;) But in my mind there was still much more to tell (and new threads I've created that are still dangling), so this version isn't quite over yet.

* * *

 **Chapter 20**

Rose's head was still spinning, her emotions still awhirl as she settled numbly into the passenger seat of John's car. She hadn't even changed, still wearing her riding clothes, shrouded in the grim reminder of the day's event that went dreadfully wrong. She distantly knew John was taking her to someone he said could help in all this. A doctor? A psychiatrist? She didn't know and was beyond trying to reason or resist. She couldn't even focus just yet. She was still reeling over the traumatic events of the day, her mind jumbled and thoughts chaotic.

Like a video replay set on an endless loop, she kept flashing back on the horrific events of earlier, seeing the approaching stone wall, hearing Lykos' agonized cries, smelling the metallic tang of blood…

Rose squeezed her eyes shut, but the superficial attempt to close herself off did nothing to block out the horrifying images and accompanying torment.

Her eyes flew open as a rumble of thunder reverberated outside, her fears momentarily resurfacing in full force as the forecasted rainstorm moved in earlier than predicted. She gasped and pressed her rigid body back in her seat. The fragile, frayed remains of her nerves simply couldn't take much more today.

"It's all right, Rose," John spoke reassuringly as they drove. "It won't be much longer," he went on, but she could hardly make out the words. It was all she could do to take deep, even breaths.

She barely noted the familiar, rain-slicked streets of London as they wove in and out of traffic, all her concentration focused on trying to pull herself together. They reached their destination at last, the car slowing to a stop. As Rose peered through the murky downpour up at the row of council flats, her muddled mind finally cleared just enough to realize what was happening and where they were.

The Powell Estate.

Her mum.

"N-no," she whispered, voice as raw as her emotions. "No. No, _please_. H-how? How did you even…?"

John drew a long breath, letting it out slowly. "I did some checking."

She whirled toward him in her seat, her thoughts momentarily sharpening with the sudden influx of anger. "You've been _investigating_ me!"

"I'm sorry. But it was the only way."

"Why?" she cried.

His voice remained calm, soothing. "Because I want to help you."

"This isn't gonna help me!" she insisted, frantic.

"I think it can. We need to talk to her, Rose. We–"

"No!" she cut him off in a desperate voice. "I didn't tell you about her because I didn't want her to know about any of this. Any of it! John, please. Please don't tell her about me…about the things I've done. _Please!_ "

He took the keys from the ignition and unbuckled his seatbelt. "I didn't come here to tell her those things, Rose. I came here to get some answers from _her_." John got out of the car and came around to her side, opening the door, urging her gently. "Come on."

"I can't do this," she pleaded. "She'll…she'll never forgive me. I just _can't_!"

"You can," he insisted. "We'll do this together."

She looked up at him, his hand outstretched, rain spattering his face, dark eyes entreating her to trust him. It was a booming thunderclap that tipped the scale of indecision, sending her bolting from the car and into his waiting arms. John shrugged off his long tan coat and draped it around her as he hurried her through the pouring rain and across the grounds of the estate.

-:-:-:-

They entered the dated brick building, John urging Rose along as they climbed the zigzagging stairs up to flat forty-eight. As he lifted a hand and knocked on the door, he knew it was more than just the cold rain soaking her skin that had Rose trembling.

Just as it opened, another bright flash of lightning lit the sky, and Rose flung herself through the doorway with a gasp. She flew across the parlor and pressed herself onto the couch, curling into a protective ball. John eyed her with growing concern, fearing her tumultuous emotions had nearly reached the limit.

Saxon…

Lykos…

Her mum…

It could easily become too much at any moment, but that just proved the urgency of this. It _had_ to be done. If not now, John feared it was only a matter of time before she tried to run from it again, but that was never going to solve anything. She _had_ to finally face this.

"Rose!" Jackie Tyler exclaimed in surprise as her bedraggled daughter bolted past. "What the bloody–"

"Sorry to burst in on you like this, Mrs. Tyler," John said, hurrying to Rose's side to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. "But I'm sure you know how Rose feels about storms. Best for her to get inside quickly."

The woman stalked into the parlor, hands on her hips, eyeing him fiercely. "What'd you know about my Rose? And who are _you_?"

He met her gaze steadily. "I'm Dr. John Smith. Rose's husband."

"What on earth are you on about?" the woman demanded, eyes widening. "Rose hasn't got a _husband_! That's complete rubbish! Just what are you tryin' to pull here? Rose, what is all this nonsense about?"

Rose, wet and shivering, seemed all but tuned out to the conversation taking place around her, her eyes squeezed shut as she no doubt tried to block out the sights and sounds of the storm raging around her; within her.

"Rose needs help, Mrs. Tyler," John continued. "She has for quite some time, but I think you already know that."

Jackie's face hardened. "I don't know what you're talkin' about. And neither do you."

John stroked Rose's hair, a gesture of both reassurance and apology for what was about to take place, then turned to face Jackie Tyler. "Actually, I do. And Rose needs to know, too. She has no memory of what happened fourteen years ago to make her this way, so you need to tell her. You need to tell her so she can make sense of these feelings and fears that plague her. She's never been able to understand it, but she _needs_ to so she can process it and try to move past it."

"You're mad," Jackie accused, voice seething with anger and, perhaps, a bit of fear. "Completely mad. Bargin' in here, makin' all sorts of wild accusations. I ought to call the police this minute! I will if you don't leave right now. You hear me?"

"Mrs. Tyler, if you don't tell Rose then I _will_. I know the general details of what happened."

She went completely still then, eyes sharp, voice low. "You bloody well do _not_ know any details. You couldn't possibly know. 'Cause no one knows everything that happened except _me_. And I'll take that with me to the grave."

His voice rose in anger. "And destroy your daughter in the process?"

"I'm _saving_ her," Jackie shot back.

"Saving?" he repeated, incredulous. He flung an arm toward Rose. "Have you taken a good hard look at her? Do you see how she's dying inside? Don't you see how it's eaten away at Rose all these years? She lives in fear, terror triggered by the most ordinary things. Fundamental things. Even…human touch. Do you know that your beautiful, vibrant daughter cannot bear the touch of a man?" His voice lowered. "Any man? It terrifies her yet she doesn't know why. But you _do_ , don't you? Don't you think she deserves to know? To understand why she feels this way?"

"It doesn't matter why," Jackie insisted, hands clenching at her sides. "I'm just glad she _does_ feel that way."

"Glad?" he choked, uncomprehending.

"That's right. 'Cause she's better off for it. Much better off!"

John drew a breath, forcing himself to calm down. If he didn't keep his head, he'd have no hope of ever making this woman see reason. "That's an interesting view, considering the thing you condemn is the very thing you once exploited to earn your living. I've had an investigator working here. I've read the report from the police inquiry – the inquiry into the death of the man you killed. It was one of your gentlemen clients who died by your hand that night."

"M-Mum?" Rose whispered out in a broken voice behind them, lifting her face. She had been all but mentally tuned out, but the shocking words seemed to cut through the haze clouding her mind.

"This man's a liar!" Jackie insisted, sounding desperate. "I _told_ you all men were."

"I'm not lying, Rose," John countered. "I have the evidence to prove it."

Thunder crashed again and Rose shuddered, trembling anew as her eyes involuntarily clamped shut.

"It was storming that night too, wasn't it?" he went on, turning back to Jackie Tyler. "That's why Rose is terrified of storms. Did it traumatize her along with everything else that happened that night?"

"That's enough! Get out!" Jackie raged. "Get out of my house! I'll have no more of this, you hear me? No more!" She advanced on him then, hand raised to strike, but he caught her wrist and held her back. She flailed, trying to lash out. He had to pin both her arms in his grasp to protect himself, and even then she managed to land a few kicks. "Get out!" she continued to scream. "Men are all filthy liars and I won't have another one of 'em in my house! Never again!"

"Mrs. Tyler, calm down! I'm only here to try to help Rose," he tried to reason.

"I said get out!" she screeched.

"L-let her go!" Rose cried out from behind him, her voice sounding as small and frightened as a child. "You…you let my mum go! Don't hurt her! Don't hurt my mum again!"

Jackie instantly stilled. John turned, noting Rose's wide-eyed, far-off expression, as if reliving a scene from the past. Maybe, John thought grimly, he could use that to their advantage in this situation. If cracks were forming around her guarded mind, it might make it possible to reach inside to what lay hidden beneath.

He hurried to Rose and dropped to his knees in front of her. "Who hurt your mum the first time, Rose? Were you there? Did you see?"

"No! She didn't!" Jackie tried to pull at his shoulders but he ignored her, focused on Rose.

"I-I saw him hurt her…," Rose whispered, eyes glazed.

"Shut up, Rose!" Jackie cried out, now dropping down on the floor behind them as she choked back a sob.

"No, Rose," John encouraged. "Keep going. You _need_ to remember. Tell me. Go on. Start at the beginning of what you remember. Think of the dreams you're always having, the ones you've told me about. You hear knocking…" He set the scene, rapping his knuckles on the wall beside her. "What does it mean?"

Rose closed her eyes, her voice a small whisper, as if uttering a forbidden secret. "It...it means they want in. One of those…those men who used to come to our old flat. Then Mum would…would make me get out of bed and leave our room to sleep on the couch…"

Acting on a grim hunch, John posed the most difficult question. "Did one of them ever try to hurt you, Rose?"

Behind him, Jackie released a quiet sob.

Slowly, Rose nodded, eyes still squeezed shut, voice distant. "He…he heard me crying from the thunder. It scared me. So he came out and told me to settle down. He…he told me he'd lay down with me to help me sleep." Her eyes suddenly flew open and her voice rose in fright as she pressed back into the couch, away from the threatening scene playing out in her mind. "But he was pushing me down and I couldn't breathe and he was so close! I didn't want him that close! M-Mum ran out and told him to stop. She…she yelled at him a-and hit him. But then he hit _her_! He hit her again and again and he hurt her! He hurt my mum! She told me to help her. I _had_ to help her. So I…so I hit him! I took the metal stick from the fireplace and I _hit_ him! As hard as I could! I kept hitting him again and again to make him stop hurting my mum! And th-there was blood all over his face…it was everywhere and Mum was screaming and…and…"

Rose broke down into horrified sobs, her entire body quaking.

John rose up on his knees and gathered her into his arms. "Shhh," he soothed as she dissolved into wracking cries. "It's all right, Rose. Everything is all right now. It's over. Long over. You're safe. Shhh…shhh. You're safe."

Minutes passed. He held her until her cries quieted and she began to catch her breath, short, shallow gasps that eventually grew steady. Rose finally opened her eyes, and for the first time since confronting her back at the Manor he saw clarity in her pained expression.

"I…I tried so hard to forget," she choked out, voice thick with emotion. "I didn't _want_ to remember. I told myself it had all just been a dream. A horrible dream."

"I know," he reassured her. "I know. It's okay."

Jackie's pained voice spoke from behind them. "When Rose lost her memory of that night, I thought it meant…forgiveness." He turned to look at Jackie, who had slumped into a chair, her expression wracked with regret. "I thought her forgetting meant a second chance. A chance to make things right."

"You tried to protect her," John stated. He looked back at Rose. "She told the police she was the one who killed the man that night in self-defense."

"I cleaned you up, burned the nightgown you'd been wearin' and put you back to bed before I called the police. You were…dazed. I told you it was just a bad dream." Jackie swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "I was hurt. He beat me but good. Anyone could see that. So I told them I had to fight 'im off to protect myself. I never told a soul the whole truth. Not ever. Not even when they tried to take you away from me, Rose. They tried to make me put you up for adoption. Said it'd be better for you. But I wouldn't let 'em. You were _mine_. The only thing I had." Her voice took on an edge of self-loathing. "I never wanted to take up that…line of work. But Pete died when I was still so young, no education, you just a baby, I didn't know what to do. But I told myself I'd get out one day. So after the whole investigation I promised myself then and there that if I got to keep you then I'd give all that up and raise you proper. Different from me. Respectable and decent when it came to men."

" _Decent_?" Rose's voice cracked on the word. "Oh, Mum. Well…you succeeded there." A pained laugh escaped her as tears streaked her face. "I've never let a man near me. Not even–" Her eyes flicked to John and she sucked in a breath. "'Course instead I became a thief and a liar, so I don't think I could ever be called… _decent_."

John took her trembling hands and squeezed them within his own. "Rose, it's time to finally forgive yourself. When a child feels deprived of love throughout their life, they take what they _can_ get instead, in one form or another, seeking some small sense of security, control, and the need to make their own refuge. It's understandable."

Rose drew a shuddering breath, her eyes seeking her mum. "But…but you _did_ love me after all, didn't you, Mum? You _must_ have, to try to protect me like that."

Jackie's face softened for the first time. "Rose, you an' Pete were the only two things I ever did love. But after…after everything that happened, some days I couldn't even _look_ at you. How could I? I couldn't look at you without seein' what I'd done…what I'd made you do. My baby girl had to _kill_ a man because of me."

A small sob escaped Rose. She stood on shaking legs and approached her mum. Jackie stood, and in a sudden rush she gathered her daughter in her arms.

"I'm _so_ sorry, love," Jackie whispered into Rose's hair, and it was impossible to distinguish one's cry from the other.

John excused himself from the room then, leaving mother and daughter a private moment to mourn. To mend.

-:-:-:-

The rain had slowed to a lazy spattering of intermittent drops, falling haphazardly from the evening sky, which spread out like a sopping gray blanket over the hazy horizon. John stood on the balcony overlooking the misty grounds of the Powell Estate, arms resting on the rusted steel railing as he breathed deeply of the moist city air. A good thirty minutes had passed before he heard the door to the flat open behind him. He turned to see Rose stepping out, red, swollen eyes locking uncertainly with his.

"I told her. Everything."

"Are you okay?" he asked, brows drawn together in concern. He didn't really know what else to say after a day like this.

She exhaled, short and shallow as she sagged against the railing beside him. "I honestly don't know yet."

"You will be. In time," he tried to assure her, and his words were not trite, empty promises. After everything Rose had already come through, he did not doubt her ability to make it through this. John nodded once toward the flat. "Is she okay?"

Rose bit her lower lip, eyes dropping. "She doesn't hate me for the things I did. But I think she hates herself." She flicked a glance toward him. "Don't think she's too crazy about you, either."

He breathed a short laugh. "I suppose I didn't make the best first impression." His tone sobered. "Nor did I become her…erm…son-in-law under the best of circumstances."

Rose pulled in a breath, lacing her hands together, studying them intently. "What's gonna happen now?" she murmured.

He turned to her, voice gentle. "What do you want to happen?"

She closed her eyes, sounding weary. "I just…want all this behind me. I don't want it hanging over me every minute of every day." She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Did…did Saxon agree not to press charges?"

John stiffened. He was not going to tell her the man's vile terms. He would spare her that. It wasn't even worth repeating. "No. But that wasn't our only option," he was quick to remind her.

"You mean just…confess? Everything?"

He studied her face. "Yes."

"Will they…will they put me in prison?"

He reached out and covered her hands with his. "Not with the evidence I have to present, and the restitution ready to be made."

Rose swallowed, eyes flicking between his, voice still sounding so small and uncertain. "And…what happens after?"

 _What about us_ , she didn't say.

"That's up to you, Rose."


	22. Chapter 21

**A/N** Reinette is finally dealt with, but not without trying to deal a final blow of her own.

* * *

 **Chapter 21**

In the midst of the day's upheaval, one positive ray of light shone through. Rose and her mum had gained the beginnings of a deeper sense of closeness and understanding than had previously existed in their strained relationship. Rose now understood…everything. Including her mum's distance rooted in guilt, and the dark origins of her own fears. It would take time before Rose could even hope to process it all, but at least she could begin to make sense of her tumultuous past.

"I'll be back again soon, Mum. Okay?" Rose said, hugging her mother tightly as both stood near the doorway of the flat. For now, everything that could be said _had_ been said.

"You can stay, y'know?" Jackie murmured into her hair. "For as long as you'd like."

Rose caught sight of John over her mum's shoulder, waiting quietly by the door. She knew he wouldn't object to her staying if that was what she really wanted, despite what his own wants might be. But she couldn't consider that right now, tempting as it was to want to shut herself off from everything else she would soon be facing. Yet she couldn't just hide away here. She had to try to begin picking up the pieces of her life, still needing to sort out how to proceed from here.

"I know," Rose said, easing back. "But there are things I've still gotta tend to."

Jackie nodded in understanding, however reluctant, then turned to face John.

He shifted a little and cleared his throat. "I'll bring Rose back whenever she'd like. And I'd like to have you up to Gallifrey Manor sometime as well. You'll always be welcome."

Jackie narrowed her eyes in scrutiny. "Don't think you can impress me just 'cause you're rich. It's gonna take more than that. And if I ever hear that you've not treated my Rose well in any way–"

"Mum," Rose was quick to interrupt, not wanting any more conflict on a day that had seen more than its share, along with feeling the sudden instinct to defend him. "'S not like that. John's…different."

She caught his eye then, and a fervent, undefined emotion passed over his face.

"Different," Jackie repeated, dubious.

"I can promise you, Mrs. Tyler, that I only ever want the best for Rose."

Jackie's voice softened a little, shifting from disapproving to pleading. "You see to that, you hear me?"

He nodded without hesitation. "You have my word."

Rose was quiet as they walked back down to the awaiting blue sports car, the pricey vehicle so out of place in an area where most didn't even own their own automobile. Could John ever really fit in her world? Could she ever really fit in his? Was it progress to even be thinking along those lines, or evidence of yet another obstacle between them? Whether Jackie approved or not, even her mum seemed to take for granted that she and John would be together for the foreseeable future. Rose just wished she could know what that future held, so fragile and uncertain.

The ride back to the Manor was spent in loaded silence, Rose's mind trying to contend with everything that had happened. It wasn't possible, of course. Coming to terms with all of this was not going to be an overnight process. She honestly wasn't sure where to go from here in regards to her past, her present or her future. But one thing she did know: She wasn't alone in this.

At least, she tried desperately to tell herself this. John had promised Jackie that he would continue to be there for her daughter. But was the promise only spoken out of a sense of obligation? Did he still…care about her in the same way? Could he, with the things he now knew?

"Do you still…want me to stick around?" Rose finally asked. Her voice, though soft, was almost jarring after the silence that had dominated. "I know what you said to my mum, but…you can tell me the truth."

John's eyes cut from the road to her, his expression one of startled confusion. "Of course I do. Why would I not?"

She nearly laughed then, but couldn't quite summon the strength. She shrugged weakly instead, feeling nauseated by her next words. "I killed a man. When I was just a kid. That's…pretty sick. Even for me."

His reply was quick and decisive. "You _defended_ yourself against something no person, child or otherwise, should have to face. There's a vast difference."

Rose stared down at her folded hands, willing them to stop trembling. "Maybe," she mumbled. This was going to take time.

"This isn't the end of facing your past, Rose," John went on. "I understand that. It's just the beginning in some ways. But eventually you're going to have to forgive yourself. And you will. I know you will."

"I don't think my forgiveness is what I have to worry about right now." She drew a long, deep breath and looked over at him. "There's gonna be a trial, isn't there?"

He paused before answering. "If you want everything cleared up once and for all, then there's going to have to be some legal proceedings to face, yes. But court hearings and prison sentences are two very different things, and I don't think there's a court in the land that would hold you over for murder under the circumstances. And your prior frame of mind is going to have a definite bearing on any other charges." His grip tightened on the wheel, though he kept his tone even. "I think it's best if we do this as soon as possible, though. Saxon threatened to break silence in forty-eight hours."

Rose swallowed forcibly.

"But your fate isn't up to him," John continued. "He'll have to abide by whatever the court decides. I think it would look best to be forthcoming on your own, though. Beat him to the punch, so to speak."

Rose nodded, feeling a balloon of fear swell inside her.

"Hey," John said, redirecting her focus. "It's going to be okay." He fastened his eyes back to the road, sounding a little more cautions with his next words. "But I do think they're going to want you to seek help, Rose. I'm pretty certain of that. Will you…be okay with that?"

Her eyes fell closed as she drew a breath. She had once been so opposed to the idea of talking to anyone about her past, due largely to the fact that she didn't want to have to face the looming, unidentified darkness that lurked beneath the murky surface. This day had thrust her a bit beyond that point now. "If I have to, then I can…I can try," she finally consented.

John cast her a look of visible relief. He obviously knew what a big step that was for her. "You can do this, Rose. I know you can. You're going to get through it. Some of the worst is already over."

Rose wished she could believe that, but her mum and the authorities were not the only ones she was going to have to face up to. "What about your family?" she asked quietly, feeling a fresh wave of shame. "They're gonna know what I've done. Everything I've been. I'll have to tell them, 'cause it's all gonna come out."

John did not seem distressed by this. "I think I know my father pretty well. And I've come to learn he's one of the least judgmental humans out there."

"Humans?" She couldn't help but give a wry smile at his atypical choice of words, a quirk of his.

He shrugged. "As opposed to Reinette."

He'd likely meant it as an attempt to lighten the mood, but Rose stiffened at the mention of the woman's name.

John seemed to notice. "She won't be staying any longer, Rose. She's been deplorable toward you, and her little stunt with Saxon was the last straw. I won't have anyone try to hurt you like that."

At once, Rose was hit with a confusing mix of consolation and guilt. She never wanted to lay eyes on the woman again, and the thought that she might not have to brought instant relief. But she didn't want to be the one to make John go back on his word either, something she had come to realize that a man like him did not do. She had already caused him to blur the lines enough times on her behalf as it was, protecting her when the law might have said otherwise.

"You'd promised she could stay, though. Long before I came along," she quietly pointed out.

"True. But I'd say her recent actions have made any promises null and void."

She thought about it for a long moment. "John?"

"Hmm?"

"Maybe you should…give her another chance."

He cut his eyes to her in surprise. "What?"

"Forgiveness, right? You're the one teaching me about second chances."

His brows drew tight, then relaxed as he smiled. "You really are remarkable, you know that?" He turned his eyes back to the road, jaw tensing. "But I make no promises. And you don't have to tell her anything. You owe her no explanations."

Rose bit her lower lip, releasing it as she exhaled. "She's gonna find out anyway. I'd rather just…get it over with now."

John nodded once in understanding.

They finally reached the Manor, the stately home glowing warmly in the dim evening. John rounded the circular drive and cut the engine. He gave Rose a reassuring smile before sliding out of his seat. He came around to her side, taking her hand as she exited the car. Rose drew a breath. She just wanted to get this done.

All of the guests from earlier in the day had departed, so it was only Wilfred who greeted them at the door as they walked in.

"Oh my word, I was so worried. Are you okay, sweetheart?" he asked, pulling Rose into a hug.

"That's…that's still up for debate, I guess," she murmured.

He eased back, gentle hands resting on her shoulders. "What you need is a nice steaming cuppa."

"I think we could all use one," John agreed.

They crossed into the parlor, finding Reinette already inside. She stood, looking as if she'd been eager for their arrival, already prepared to gloat over Rose's recent distress. "Well, this has certainly been an eventful weekend," the young blonde commented, barely suppressing a satisfied smile.

"You don't know the half of it," Rose grimly remarked. John pulled her tighter to his side and she looked up at him, gathering the strength to speak her next words. "But…it's time that everyone did."

-:-:-:-

"You're a thief," Reinette bit out. "And a _murderer!_ "

"Reinette," John warned. "Don't. Just _don't_."

"No, _you_ don't!" she snapped. "I can't believe you've been harboring _this_. Protecting _this_. It's utterly inconceivable. I knew she was foul, and it's even worse than I had imagined. And here you are defending her!"

"Rose had no control over what happened to her as a child," John shot back.

"You're saying she is just a victim?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"And what about those _she_ victimized?"

"You're right," Rose spoke up. "It doesn't excuse the things I did. And you have no idea how much I regret those mistakes."

"Oh, so you're sorry?" Reinette mocked.

"Yes," Rose murmured.

Wilfred finally spoke up for the first time since hearing the whole story, having listened with quiet patience. "What matters now is that you want to do the right thing. That takes courage, and it shows you _are_ sorry for those mistakes." He pointed an aged finger at Reinette, sounding uncharacteristically stern. "And you, young lady, have an apology of your own to make, eh? You ought to be ashamed, trying to hurt Rose by bringing that miserable man here."

Reinette was unrepentant. "It wouldn't have been a problem for her if she hadn't _stolen_ from him." She turned contemptuous eyes back on Rose. "I hope you get locked away for life," Reinette hissed. "You deserve everything that's coming to you. You're–"

"Enough!" John said, standing to his feet. "That's enough."

"Oh, I am only just starting," she vowed.

"No, you're not. You're _stopping_ ," he commanded. "That's enough, Reinette. You've been spiteful and malicious toward Rose from the start."

"For a very good reason!"

"And it ends here. You might be interested to know that Rose thought you deserved a second chance. I was willing to consider it. But if you sit here spewing your hate for one more second then you're going to learn that I don't always give second chances. This is your only warning."

Reinette stood to face him, flushed crimson from both embarrassment and anger over the harsh reprimand. "Was that supposed to be some kind of threat? How dare you!"

"It wasn't a threat, Reinette. It's a fact. I'm not going to tolerate this kind of behavior in my home."

"So you would what? Throw me out as if _I_ were the one in the wrong?"

"That's exactly what I'd do."

Her eyes widened. "You gave your word! You gave your word to _Joan_."

"And that's why you've stayed as long as you have. But enough is enough. I think it would be best for all concerned if you returned to your family in France."

"But my studies!"

He shrugged. "Then try getting a job and earning your own place to stay."

She gaped at him for a long moment. "I simply cannot believe this. I cannot believe _you_. She's poisoned you. She's turned you against me and–"

John shook his head, interrupting her rant. "I think you'll find you did a very thorough job of that on your own."

She looked to Wilfred. He was silent. She looked to Rose, eyes fierce. And finally she looked back to John, seething. "Joan was well rid of you. And if you think I'd want to stay under the same roof as _that_ ," she pointed to Rose, "then you're gravely mistaken."

With that, she marched out of the room.

-:-:-:-

As Reinette presumably packed, receiving no offer of assistance from anyone in the household, John walked with Rose upstairs to the bedroom. He paused inside, turning towards her, hands on her shoulders.

"You're trembling," he murmured.

Was she? Rose hadn't noticed. She was too exhausted and numb at this point for her physical state to even register.

John muttered a curse under his breath, hand moving up to cup her cheek. "You're _freezing_. Your clothes are still damp from being soaked in the rain. I should have realized sooner. You've got to get out of those damp things and warmed up. Here…"

He led her into the adjoining en-suite. Rose stood in the middle of the spacious bathroom, gleaming white tiles a stark contrast to the haze fogging her mind. She squinted. John dimmed the lights and went to the tub, turning on the overhead spray. He reached a hand beneath the cascading stream to test the temperature as steam began to rise.

"That should do it," he murmured, almost to himself. He turned back to her. "Take as long as you need. It'll warm you up and help to relax you. I think you could do with that after a day like this."

She nodded, not really even paying attention to his words. She was numb inside and out. He ducked out for a minute and returned with a fresh pair of pajamas for her to change into after. Part of her was mindful of his efforts just enough to hate the fact that he had to do the most basic things here, she herself useless at the moment. But she was just…spent.

"Right, then. I'll leave you to it. I suppose I'd better get changed myself." He glanced down at his suit, pulling at a damp lapel. He started to walk past her, but caught her expression and stopped, his face overtaken with concern. "Rose…," he breathed.

She looked at him then, her glassy eyes meeting his liquid brown warmth. Her vision blurred with a sudden rush of tears, but there was no accompanying cry; no sudden sob. Just a quick, desperate attempt to breathe.

She gasped in an effort to pull air into her lungs, and John was there in one long step, pulling her into his arms. There were no words spoken between them. None were needed. None were adequate. The entirety of this day had torn open old wounds and inflicted new ones, leaving her raw and bleeding. And yet, with injury came the process of eventual healing. Maybe this time there was a chance for her wounds to heal properly, given time.

There were no more secrets, no more lies, no more hidden fears. It was all out there. She felt torn open and exposed. Yet at the same time, the darkness in her mind seemed to hold less power over her, less potency, no longer wielding the fear of the unknown. It was, if nothing else, a start, tattered as she may still be.

Without speaking, John moved her to the edge of the tub. He coaxed her to sit and began removing her riding boots, doing the task that her numb fingers could not seem to manage, that her numb mind could not seem to focus on.

"There," he murmured, setting her boots aside. He glanced up. She remained motionless. Continuing the task, he reached for the buttons of her black riding jacket. Rose sucked in a sharp breath, and he stilled, eyes widening. "I…sorry. I just…" He cleared his throat and stood.

Rose looked up at him, her mind momentarily burying everything else in the background, clearing a path to focus on him. This man had been here for her every step of the way, and he had promised that would not change through whatever lay ahead. Maybe it was time for her to show a small measure of the trust he had earned.

Legs trembling, Rose stood and moved toward him. She reached for his unmoving hand and brought it back to his original task.

He drew an uneven breath, eyes falling shut. "Rose...no. No, I didn't mean…"

"It…it's okay," she whispered. "Y-you can…" She broke off, eyes sliding to the side in direct contradiction to her assent. She _hated_ these deeply-rooted insecurities, wondering if she could ever truly be free.

John squeezed her hand in his, then lowered it back to her side. He pulled his fingers free and trailed them up her arm, over her shoulder, into her hair. His fingers slid to the base of her head, gently guiding her forehead to his lips. His lips fluttered over her temple like the downy brush of a feather, warm breath puffing over her skin as he whispered. "Not tonight, love. Not until you can ask me without trembling."

A wave of hopelessness crested over her. "W-what if I never can?"

There was a long pause before he answered, causing her to doubt his otherwise certain reply. "Then that's okay."

She couldn't meet his eyes. "It's not, though."

"Hey. Look at me." With reluctance, she complied. "A day at a time, okay?"

She nodded. He brushed a light kiss to her forehead and turned, closing the door behind him.

-:-:-:-

John changed out of his damp clothes and had just pulled on a fresh Oxford when a soft knock sounded on the door to his workshop. Not the connecting door to the bedroom but the main door leading out to the hall. John frowned. He knew it wouldn't be Rose on that side. He glanced toward the adjoining door to the bedroom. He'd left it open just a crack. Just enough to let Rose know he was not, in any way, closed off to her, hoping she had not read his earlier withdrawal as a rejection of any sort.

It must be Wilfred, he decided, feeling a swell of fondness for his adoptive father and the way he had handled the news of Rose's past. John paused in the task of buttoning his dark blue shirt to go to the door.

He opened it to find not Wilfred but Reinette standing on the other side. She looked...well, he'd never actually seen her look this way before. Contrite. Almost on the verge of tears. He eyed her warily.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his, blue orbs watery and stricken. "John?" she all but whispered. "I…I'm sorry. I understand if that is not enough. I understand if you still hate me."

John sighed. He didn't want any more drama today. "I don't hate you, Reinette," he said, one weary finger rubbing at his eye. "Even if I'm within my rights to do so after the things you've done this past week. Considering all that, it's best for all concerned if we just…end this."

"End us?" she clarified, a slight tremble in her voice.

"Reinette…," he warned.

"I know," she was quick to respond. "You've told me how you feel on the matter. And no mere words can change a heart if it is set on its course. But before I go, I just want you to know – I _need_ you to know – that I love you." The last was spoken on a whisper.

He drew a breath, shaking his head. "Look, we just–"

"I love you, John," she persisted. "I believe I've loved you from the first moment we met, before I truly even understood the emotion. I was too young then. Perhaps I still have much maturing ahead of me. I will admit that. I mean it when I say that I am sorry. But I never intended true harm. And the things I did were done out of my _love_ for you."

John raked a hand through his hair. "Reinette, that was _not_ love."

She pressed forward, hands grasping the loose tails of his unbuttoned shirt, voice entreating. "Then teach me what _is_. Teach me how to love you in the way you desire. In the way you deserve."

He took her hands and loosened her fingers from his shirt. "I love _Rose_. You know that. It's time for you to accept it and move on with your own life."

"But she doesn't love you back," Reinette insisted. "She _can't_ love you back. She's not well. She's not right." John felt his jaw clench. "I don't…fault the girl for that," she added, though it sounded like a strain for her to do so. "That's simply who she is. She is not a whole woman and I doubt she ever can be. I've seen how things are between you. I've seen that you've been reduced to _sleeping_ in here. She won't even have you in the same room. You deserve better than that. She simply isn't capable of fulfilling your basic human needs for love…" She pressed close again. "Touch…" She lifted a hand and brought it to his face. "Passion…" In one swift move, her lips were on his. Fiery. Relentless.

The force of it sent him back a step and she followed, refusing to relinquish her claim, arms twisting around his neck and body crushing itself to his. Stunned, it took longer than it should have for him to react.

"Stop," he then rasped, wrenching his mouth away at the same time he reached up to pry her arms loose.

"Is that _really_ what you want?" she challenged, ducking forward again to plant an open-mouthed kiss to his bare chest.

He gasped, body trembling as her scorching lips touched his skin. It was involuntary but he still hated himself for it. "Yes," he grit out, pushing her back.

She looked up at him, eyes hooded, lips curving in victory. She'd felt his response, and if that was her only conquest she would claim it with relish. "No matter what you try to say, no matter what words you use to try to convince yourself, you cannot deny how I make you feel. That is what a _real_ woman can give you."

He could see it in her eyes then. Every word, every action, every feigned apology was a final attempt to hold on to something that had never and would never be hers.

"Reinette?" he said, taking a step back.

"Yes?" she answered, reclaiming the space with a forward stride.

"Goodbye."

Her mask fell away. The game was over and she knew she had lost, smoldering seduction replaced by cold spite. "Very well, then. If that is truly what you want, to be a martyr for that…woman." She turned on her heel and strode to the door, stopping to send him a final look over her shoulder, voice mocking. "Enjoy your life as a monk. You know where to find me if you ever want to escape the monastery."

Reinette finally left, and John was finally able to breathe. He sank down on the leather couch and shook his head as he fastened the buttons of his shirt. He honestly hoped that one day she would come to understand the real meaning of love.

He likely wouldn't have been quite so charitable in his thoughts toward the young woman if he'd seen the shadow pass by the adjoining door as Rose turned away.

-:-:-:-

Rose clicked off the bedside lamp and climbed into the large, empty bed, curling on her side. Moments before, she had worked up the courage to ask John to stay with her again tonight, to be near her while she slept as he had two nights ago. Asking that of him now, however, felt like it would just spotlight her weakness, the feeble fact that it was _all_ she could ask of him. It had seemed like such a huge step for her before. How pathetic, she now thought.

Rose closed her eyes, trying to block out what she had just glimpsed and heard, but it was no use. Seeing John touched by Reinette in that way made her stomach clench involuntarily. And yet, it hadn't been a ghastly inhuman scene. It had looked…natural for them in that one brief moment. Natural in the way that things could be for a man and a woman. _Some_ women.

He had rebuffed the other woman's advances. But…should he? Was there a reason to? A woman like Reinette – _any_ woman, for that matter – could give him all the things an inadequate woman like herself could not. She couldn't even let him touch her without trembling, and he'd had to turn away tonight because of it.

" _You deserve better than that. She simply isn't capable of fulfilling your basic human needs..."_

They couldn't keep on like this forever, Rose knew. This wasn't fair to John. At this point, the reasons were compounding as to why it felt selfish for her to even stay. But she honestly didn't know if she could face what would come next without his friendship, guidance and support. After that, well… He had been the strong one up to this point. Soon she would have to be the strong one, to learn what she was capable of and decide what she really wanted, then have the strength to either let him in or let him go. There were no other options.


	23. Chapter 22

**A/N** One villain down, one villain to go. Heads-up on some violence toward the end of this chapter, though not terribly explicit.

* * *

 **Chapter 22**

The weeks that followed could be summed up in a single word: tumultuous.

Summoning her courage, Rose had determined to get everything out in the open once and for all, which meant a full and voluntary confession of all past wrongdoings. This in turn led to a whirl of legal proceedings, statements, solicitors and, as John had predicted, psychologists.

Financial restitution had been made not only in the Saxon case, but now in the Van Statten and Lumic cases as well. All embittered parties, however, had not been willing to simply drop charges in lieu of repayment. A subsequent investigation was opened and all extenuating factors examined, beginning with a re-opening of the case surrounding the death of the man who had assaulted Jackie Tyler fourteen years prior. A man now known to have attempted an assault against Rose as well.

It was all laid bare, every dark detail. With grave reluctance, though knowing it had to be done, Jackie stepped forward and corroborated the fact that Rose had been the one to act in self-defense, and had also been the initial victim that night. It also became clear that Rose had fallen through the cracks in terms of receiving any sort of help or counseling in the aftermath. Despite her mother's claim at the time that Rose had not been involved, a psychologist should have performed a standard evaluation nonetheless. The signs of emotional trauma were there, though negligently overlooked. As expected, Rose was ordered to undergo an extensive psychiatric evaluation now, the results of which were taken into account in regards to the recent charges facing her.

The facts were relatively straightforward, the legal deliberations moving with swift efficiency. The verdict was soon delivered, and it was the day Rose felt her life might actually have the chance to move forward.

At the conclusion of the proceedings, the original ruling of self-defense was upheld. The knowledge of who had delivered the fatal blows might have changed, but the reason necessitating it had not. As for charges of theft, based on clear extenuating psychological factors and the financial restitution that had been made, Rose was issued a suspended sentence, with the strict stipulation that she undergo psychotherapy for as long as an assigned therapist deemed necessary.

For Rose, this was the blessing and the curse. The prospect of peeling off the bandages covering her past and exposing the wounds beneath was excruciating. It was as painful as the resetting of a broken bone. Likewise, it was essential to her healing.

John remained supportive throughout, even offering to attend the counseling sessions with her if she wanted him to. But Rose knew there were some things she simply had to face on her own. And it was hard enough to talk about those things as it was. It wouldn't help to have an audience, no matter how supportive. John had understood this, and he had not pushed nor asked questions about the specifics of her sessions.

Rose had been extremely guarded at first, allowing the female counselor to do most of the talking the first few sessions. But as they progressed, Rose found it marginally easier to open up about her past, her compulsions and her fears, beginning to face and process things that she once would have done anything to avoid.

She was not belittled. She was not chastised. She was…understood. That went a long way, considering Rose was still working to understand it all herself. It would take time, but no one was putting any sort of deadline on it. Healing, Rose was learning, ebbed and flowed at its own pace. She accepted the fact that she might always have scars. But scars were more bearable than unhealed, festering wounds.

Despite her new attempts to move forward, there had been one still bent on holding to the past in the midst of it all: Harold Saxon. The resentful businessman had done his best to make the entire legal process as difficult as possible. John never had disclosed much of what went on during their one-on-one meeting that day, vague and reluctant to discuss it the few times Rose questioned him in the aftermath. But Saxon had clearly not reached a satisfactory bargain with John. As a result, when criminal charges were suspended, he went after Rose with a civil claim. Since financial restitution had already been made, though, he had little to stand on, and his claim didn't stick. Rose tried to see that as a sign that maybe she could attempt to move forward after all.

As for the future, Rose was finally ready to consider the possibilities. She had absolutely no desire to blur the lines between right and wrong or misstep the law ever again. She also had no desire to live off John's generosity long-term. He had already done far more than enough. Far more than she could ever repay. No, she wanted to _earn_ whatever came to her, not take it unlawfully or be handed it on a silver platter.

Once upon a time, this would have left her considering only one option: back to life as a shop girl. But John had opened her eyes to the possibilities, instilling a burgeoning confidence inside her, making her realize that maybe, just maybe, she was capable of more. She wanted to work toward her A-Levels, as John had once suggested. It would take her some time to save toward tuition, but she could do it. She _would_ do it. She was determined to make something of this life that she had brought so perilously close to ruin.

John would be proud of her for that. Her mum would be proud of her for that. Maybe it was the counseling sessions giving her greater insight, but Rose knew that a part of her was still seeking approval. Part of her might never stop seeking her mum's affection and approval, despite the marked improvement in their relationship. Some things were too deeply ingrained.

In the meantime, Rose was determined to earn her keep. As such, she resumed her former position at TARDIS Corporation, this time actually intent on doing a good job for the sake of doing a good job. She devoted herself to learning the ins and outs of the company and her position within it, Sarah Jane becoming an invaluable mentor and friend in the process. John never elaborated to anyone at work of Rose's attempted actions at _his_ corporation, but she knew everyone must have suspected after her past came to light. In the beginning, there were the unavoidable stares and whispers. But each day got a little easier as her character was established and trust was rebuilt.

Through it all, John had been steadfast in his support of her. He knew every sordid detail of her past, yet he did not turn away in revulsion. That continued to amaze Rose. She still didn't quite know what to do with that. She knew what he _wanted_ her to do with that, even if he didn't push her for it.

He wanted her to love him.

Was she capable? Would she ever be? She had struggled with that question long before Reinette, now mercifully out of the picture, had shoved the issue of inadequacy back to the forefront of Rose's mind. It wasn't just a question of being capable in the physical sense. And yes, there was that aspect, too. But there was also the emotional factor. Could she allow herself to be that open, that vulnerable, in order to share herself so completely with another person? And…did she actually feel that way about John?

Despite her progress, Rose still could not allow her mind to consider it too closely, because the all-consuming concept still terrified her. She was still with John, though, in his home and in his life, even if the boundaries between them remained. Walking out now after everything he had done would seem like a slap in the face. But that wasn't the only thing that kept her in his life. She wanted him in _hers_. Maybe it was selfish, because she still wasn't ready to define their relationship, but Rose knew she wasn't ready to let him go. Though she also knew an eventual decision was unavoidable.

There were still issues to face on numerous practical and personal levels, and nothing had been magically erased in these eventful weeks. But Rose was, undeniably, able to finally breathe easier. And if she squinted, she might even be able to make out a light at the end of this long tunnel.

That was, until the day Harold Saxon contacted her privately.

The letter had arrived with no return address, likely because he knew Rose would have been apt to burn it rather than open it. She did open it, though. And as her eyes absorbed the menacing words on the page, her anxiety flared. Saxon wasn't making threats against Rose this time. She could have handled that. No, he was making threats against _John_.

Saxon claimed he would ruin TARDIS Corporation if Rose did not cooperate. John had already cut all business ties with Saxon's firm, but previous tax records were still in Saxon's possession. He now threatened to alter documents to show unethical business practices, detailing how relatively simple this would be. TARDIS Corporation had already come under serious scrutiny once before. One more scandal or accusation of misconduct might spell the end of the Corporation's reputation in the business world, Saxon threatened, even if official charges didn't stick.

Rose tried to calm her racing mind, telling herself that the threatening letter itself could be used against Saxon to prove John's innocence if something like this _was_ attempted. But then, it was type-written, had no return address, and overall lacked any concrete proof that it had actually come from Saxon. It could just as easily be claimed that John wrote it himself to throw guilt on Saxon if fraud charges were brought.

And so, Rose actually found herself considering this man's demand. He wanted to meet with her. He obviously wanted some sort of restitution in order to leave her and John alone for good, which he promised he would if he were compensated to his satisfaction. He alleged in the letter to have a fair proposal in mind. But he claimed John was insensible and too hot-headed to deal with, so he wanted to speak only with Rose this time, requesting to meet the next day after office hours.

Rose's first instinct was to incinerate the letter and purge the man from her every thought. His civil case had already been tossed out and there was nothing more he could legally do to her.

But he _might_ be able to make trouble for John.

That possibility alone gave her pause. She was still a jumble in regards to her feelings and where they stood in the long run. But one thing was certain – she did _not_ want John to face any more trouble on her behalf. He had already taken on enough and gone a thousand miles farther than anyone else ever had for her. How much more should he have to endure for her sake?

Rose did not tell John of the letter. She knew he wouldn't even consider the thought of appeasing this man now. But could she afford not to for John's sake? She didn't have long to make up her mind, since Saxon wanted to meet the next day.

She finally concluded there wasn't much harm in at least hearing him out, as John had once tried to do. She had wronged the man. Maybe if she got the chance to apologize in person it might help to mend ill feelings. She could see him wanting to make her grovel. Maybe he even wanted to arrange for her to have to work off the prior debt herself. Since John had been the one to pay it back, that likely hadn't appeased the man half as much.

Knowing nothing of the indecent proposal Saxon had previously presented, Rose made the decision to meet with him as requested. But she kept it to herself so as not to argue the matter with John, since she knew how he felt about the other man. She thought she knew, at least. She had no idea just how deep John's contemptuous opinion of Harold Saxon ran, nor how justified.

-:-:-:-

Rose made a point to finish work early the next day, but John was held up conferencing a new project. It was just as well. She had a date with the Devil to keep. John's late schedule meant she didn't have to make an excuse for where she was going. She tried not to think about it, wanting to just get the dreaded meeting over with.

Hoping to finally put this chapter of her life behind her once and for all, Rose arrived at Saxon & Company early that evening. Upon entering the Southampton high-rise, she questioned her sanity for the hundredth time since deciding to do this. Was this a wise idea? No. But Rose felt she had little choice, reminding herself she was here for John's sake. She could finally do something for him instead of the other way around. Reinette's past words echoed through Rose's mind with each step toward the imposing building, calling John a martyr for her sake. It was time she was the one to put herself on the line for him, Rose thought. That gave her the incentive to keep going.

Some of the day's late-shift employees were clocking out as Rose was checking in. She attempted to maintain a calm, unruffled front as Lucy, Saxon's wife and personal secretary, showed her to his inner office. The woman was characteristically flat and emotionless as she announced Rose's arrival and stepped out, closing the door behind her. Rose had wondered about Lucy's behavior during her previous time here. She reached the conclusion that anyone married to Harold Saxon would _have_ to blunt their emotions just to endure it.

Rose now stood in the dark, mahogany-paneled room, nervously twisting the black shoulder strap of her handbag. The room smelled of leather, tobacco and whiskey – a potent concoction that instantly brought back memories of her time here, and with it an involuntary twisting in her gut. She tried to reassure herself that after today, she would _never_ have to be in this man's presence again.

Saxon was seated behind his desk, his back to her, leather armchair turned toward the 15th story window, gazing out at Southampton's evening cityscape as he sipped casually from a glass of amber liquid. Their eyes met in the reflection of the window. Rose stiffened.

"Ah, Rose," the man intoned, still facing away. "Or is it Marion? Or Andrea? Or… Well, this could go on for quite some time, couldn't it?" He swiveled toward her then, a half smile twisting up one side of his mouth as their eyes locked. "It must be difficult to keep track of who you are from day to day. But then…what's in a name? That which we call a Rose, by any other name would smell as sweet." He stood, took a final swig from his glass, and stalked a few paces closer, voice dropping low. "And you _do_ smell rather enticing, don't you? The scent of you – the sweetness of false innocence and zest of concealed danger – is enough to drive any man wild."

Rose took a deliberate step back, sending a clear message while bringing her closer to the door in case she needed to bolt. "You said you wanted to negotiate. What is it you want?" She was proud, though surprised, that her voice didn't shake.

He sneered, looking her up and down in a way that made her insides contort. "I should think that would be obvious. Didn't John tell you?" He paused, mouth widening to a feral grin. "Oh, but then…he _wouldn't_ , would he? He wants to keep you all to himself. Can't say I blame him for that. But really, what's the harm in sharing?"

Rose felt an icy chill slither up her spine. It all began to make startling sense – the failed negotiation with John, the details of which John was never comfortable elaborating on… Rose tried to keep him talking, distracted, as she continued to edge toward the door. This had been a very, _very_ bad idea. Far worse than she'd realized. "I-if it's more money you want–"

"Money?" He laughed. "No. I'll settle for something decidedly…cheaper. I'll take _you_."

There was no more time to think. Rose spun on her heel and sprinted for the door.

Before she could reach it, he overtook her, shoving her face-forward into the paneled wall. Saxon pressed up behind her, arm around her waist like a vise, breath hot and menacing in her ear. Her heart raced as fast as her mind as Rose tried frantically to formulate her next move.

"Planning to leave so soon?" He tisked in mocking fashion. "What bad form. Quite the contrast to _this_ lovely form, I must say." His free hand groped from her waist down to her hip.

Rose was not hit by a wave of past fears. She was struck by entirely new ones as a shot of self-preserving adrenaline coursed through her veins. Rose seized that moment to strike. She rammed her elbows straight back. But he dodged her, jerking his torso away and then spinning her to face him, her wrists now pinned in his steel grasp, his body so close that she couldn't get the leverage to kick.

"Such spirit!" he chuckled. "Good. I like a challenge. Now then, it's time for a little payback. You took something from me, now I'm going to take something from you..."

"Someone help! Help me!" Rose screamed as loud as she could in the direction of the door as she thrashed and struggled in his grasp.

He laughed darkly. "Scream all you like. The room is soundproof. Then afterwards, you can go crying to the authorities for all I care. It will be your word against mine on the issue of consent, and I think it's already been established what your word is worth."

He then yanked her by the wrists toward the couch on the left side of the room, and it was then Rose struck with all the force she could summon, channeling a single thought: she was _not_ going to be another victim. Not again. Never again. She flailed and kicked and writhed, trying to land a blow to any target zone she could reach – knee, groin, solar plexus – but his unrelenting hold had her at a clear disadvantage, able to inflict little more than a few bruises but nothing incapacitating. Locking her arms behind her back, he grabbed a fistful of her hair with his other hand and jerked her head back.

"That's enough!" he spat.

Searing pain burned through her shoulders as he pinned her arms more tightly to her back. Rose made to struggle again, but she was getting nowhere and only wearing herself out. She knew she _had_ to keep her wits. She had to block out the disabling distraction of fear if she was to effectively utilize principles of self-defense.

Focusing, Rose waited until he let up enough to push her forward to the couch. She had just enough space then to maneuver for another strike.

As he went to shove her down, she took immediate advantage of his slackened hold on her arms and spun toward him. She thrust her knee upward, ramming his groin in a powerful, unexpected blow that sent him reeling. He gasped and slumped forward. Capturing the advantage, she propelled her elbow into his gut, then reared back and struck his bent form again, landing a direct kick to his face which sent him staggering backward, blood spurting from his fractured nose.

Immediately, Rose ran straight for the door and flung it open, only to skid to a halt as she came face to face with Lucy Saxon. In her hand was a gun, held at her side almost casually.

"Stop her!" Saxon yelled out, cradling his bloodied nose. "She attacked me! Call the police!"

"He attacked _me_!" Rose countered, another shot of fear streaking through her as she stared down the barrel of the gun.

"Yes, he tends to do that," Lucy replied, unnaturally void of emotion as she held the gun steady. She then turned a sweet smile on her husband. "Don't worry, Harry. I've already called security."

His voice was muffled, hands cupping his battered face. "Good! You're my witness. Tell them you saw everything!"

"Of course."

Rose's heart was racing and her mind careening. This could _not_ be happening!

Just as she was contemplating shoving her way past and taking a chance on running, an armed security officer entered the room.

"What's the trouble?" the uniformed man demanded.

Lucy spoke first, her eyes never leaving Saxon's. "My husband attacked this woman."


	24. Chapter 23

**A/N** Rose and John have a needed discussion.

 **ETA:** Apologies for the delay in updating! I decided to take the plunge with NaNoWriMo and an original story, which is taking up all my writing time in November. But I promise this story will be resumed after.

* * *

 **Chapter 23**

It had been a long day, and John was looking forward to finally leaving work behind. In the past, he could have spent all night immersed in a project without even noting the passing of time. That was before Rose. Now long workdays found his mind straying to thoughts of her, wishing for the end of the day when they would both be done working and could simply spend time together. He chuckled wryly to himself, shaking his head as he organized his notes and prepared to leave the lab. If he didn't watch himself he would become fully domesticated. If only he could be so lucky.

He presumed Rose would already be home by now, having left work earlier in the day. He hoped maybe she would be up for going out to dinner tonight. Wilfred was spending a few days in Manchester with an old friend of his whose wife had recently passed, so it would be just the two of them. Maybe they needed that bit of alone time. Wilfred had suggested as much to John privately. His father was pulling for this to work as much as John was.

Some alone time certainly wouldn't hurt. Plus, Rose was due for an evening where she could simply relax. To say that her life had been eventful in recent weeks was an understatement. Maybe if she were able to unwind a bit, she would feel comfortable opening up and discussing a few things that still needed to be addressed. There were things John felt he needed to say, but he'd been waiting for the dust of the past few weeks to settle.

So much had been faced in regards to Rose's past, but there was still much uncertainty surrounding her future. _Their_ future. It was the elephant in the room. John wasn't going to push her to make any sort of commitment. He planned to reiterate that she owed him no such thing. He knew she was ready to get on with her life and had already made considerable strides. At this crucial juncture, he didn't want her to feel held back in any way by a sense of obligation to him.

Wherever she wanted to go from here, it was her choice. He needed her to know she had his support. Even if her choice was to leave. She might rip his heart from his chest and take it with her, but he would rather endure that than for Rose to endure a life that was anything less than what she wanted.

Or, she might want what he could scarcely bring himself to hope for: to stay. Permanently.

If there was even a chance she was thinking along those lines, he wanted to try to discuss this with her, to let her know that there was still no pressure; no rush. Whatever may or may not happen between them would happen in her own time. He would wait as long as she felt she needed.

Either way, it was time to try to broach the subject again so both would know where they stood. Avoiding it was simply creating more tension; more anxiety. The past two days in particular he'd noticed Rose seemed to be more stressed and edgy. He didn't want that for her. He wanted her to finally be free from that sort of thing. He certainly couldn't tolerate the thought of their uncertain relationship being the cause.

Lost in thought, John was startled out of his reverie when the object of his musings came bursting in. His head shot up, eyes landing on Rose as she stood in the doorway of his lab. Her eyes were wide; troubled. Her face was pale and her respiration accelerated. Her anxious gaze sought and locked with his, and it was then he could see the degree of her distress.

Concerned questions tumbled off his tongue. "Rose, what is it? What's wrong?"

The next instant she was across the room and in his arms, clutching him tightly, as if she might never let go. His arms were around her a beat later, holding her to him, willing away whatever was troubling her so. He clearly didn't seem to be the source, but he was too concerned over what _had_ upset her to feel glad for that. She didn't make a sound, but her breathing was ragged and her body trembling.

"It's all right…it's okay. What is it, Rose? Tell me. Please."

She uttered a single word, muffled in his shoulder. "Saxon."

John's body stiffened to steel. The mere sound of that disgusting man's name was enough to turn his stomach. To think Harold Saxon was somehow the cause of Rose's current distress only served to spike John's own.

"What about him?" John prompted, fighting to keep his voice calm.

With a jagged indrawn breath, Rose began to tell him. Everything.

-:-:-:-

By the time Rose had finished, John's emotions were all over the chart. He felt physically sickened by the thought of Saxon's actions, terrified on Rose's behalf for what she had experienced and how much worse it _could_ have been, immensely grateful that Lucy had finally stood up to her atrocious husband and would help see that this never happened to anyone else, and overwhelmingly proud of Rose's bravery, how she had kept her wits and defended herself.

He was also angry. Fiercely, blindingly furious. At Harold Saxon, it went without saying. But also at Rose for putting herself in such a position. And at himself for being the reason that she had, and for also being the reason that she had not known just what she was walking into.

"What were you thinking?" he repeated over and over again as he held her to him, now the one needing the reassurance and support of her arms around him. "What in God's name were you _thinking_? Going in there like that was a suicide mission!" He didn't want to further upset her, but he couldn't stop the desperate words.

"I told you," Rose answered back, her voice much more composed than his. He was a wreck at the moment. "He'd threatened you, and I was afraid of what he might do if I didn't try to talk to him. I couldn't just let him put you in jeopardy."

"So you jeopardized yourself instead?" he fired back, voice rough with emotion.

"Better me than you," she mumbled.

He grasped her by the shoulders and pushed her back to look her in the eye, voice both a reprimand and a plea. "Don't you ever, _ever_ say that again."

"John–"

"I _mean_ it, Rose. You could have been killed. You could have been…" John nearly choked on his words. "Oh, Rose." He pulled her tight again, crushing her to his chest. "It's my fault," he murmured in a broken voice. "All my fault."

"No," she tried to object. "How can you say that? It was _him_. And…and me for walking in there like that."

He sighed into her hair. "It wasn't your fault. I'm sorry. Don't blame yourself. Please, don't blame yourself. You thought you were doing the right thing. And you were so, _so_ brave. But I should have _told_ you, Rose. I should have told you what it was he really wanted. I kept that from you because you had already been through so much. I didn't want to burden you with one more thing. But if I'd been honest–"

"Hey," she quietly interrupted. "'S _not_ your fault. I think we can both agree on who's to blame. It was him. He…he's a monster." She whispered the word, a shudder coursing through her.

"Yes," John agreed darkly. The only thing keeping him from hunting Saxon down and tearing him limb from limb was knowing the man was now in police custody. "But I promise you, Rose, that I won't keep anything from you again. I'll always be honest. About…everything. And please, _please_ do the same for me. No more keeping things from each other because we think it's for the best. We have to be open, even if the truth is difficult."

She nodded, eyes shifting down, the conversation now encompassing more than just Saxon.

John ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, ghosting lightly, eyes scanning her for injury. "You're _sure_ that you're okay. He didn't…?"

Rose shook her head, still looking down. "No. He didn't. I mean…he roughed me up a bit. There might be some bruises in the morning." John sucked in a breath. "But nothing…worse." She glanced back up, trying to offer a glimmer of a smile. "Can't say the same for him."

John couldn't help it. A laugh of relief whooshed out his chest. "You're amazing."

She shook her head and shrugged. "Not really. 'S just basic self-defense. I didn't even have to use more advanced moves."

"Advanced moves?" he questioned, perplexed. "You mean you know how to…what… _fight_?"

"Yeah," she confirmed with another shrug. "Sort of. It took me longer than it should have for it to kick in. But yeah. I've had training." Her voice dropped low. "I didn't ever want to be a victim."

He gaped at her, processing this new piece of information. "You mean…those times, early on, when I got too close, made you uncomfortable, frightened you…you could have…" He shook his head and let out a breath of wonder. "You could have taken me down instantly."

She wrinkled her brow at the idea, as if the thought had never even occurred to her. "No. I wouldn't have hurt you."

He stared at her, not knowing what to say, then simply pulled her forward into another hug. "All this time I've wanted to protect you, look after you. But look at you, Rose. You've never needed me, have you?" He hoped the pride in his voice eclipsed the sadness. "You…you don't need me."

She pulled back, anxious eyes finding his. "John, that's not…I…"

He offered a tiny smile. "You're brilliant. And strong. And you can do anything you set your mind to. You're one of the most dedicated, hardest working here. You'd be an asset to any employer, and you're going to excel at whatever field you choose to pursue."

"But…don't you see? You showed me that."

"Maybe," he allowed. "But all I showed you was what you already had within."

"John," she murmured. "I…I never could have faced all this without you. I can't even imagine what I'd have done."

He reached out to stroke her cheek, the backs of his fingers gliding over flushed, warm skin. "But you _did_ face it. You're ready to thrive, to embrace the future. _Any_ future. Whatever future you choose."

She stared into his eyes a moment, then stepped out of his arms, turning to take a seat on one of the nearby stools. He followed, pulling another stool from beneath a lab table and wheeling it up to sit beside her.

"Are you…ready for me to go?" she asked in a quiet voice, staring down at her hands.

"Are you ready to go?" he redirected. She looked up. He took a breath and went on. "I told you that you weren't obligated to stay with me. And…I don't want to hold you back. You'll eventually be going to university, meeting new people, forming new relationships. And that's _brilliant_."

Her expression grew startled. Almost repulsed. "Relationships?"

He kept his voice even; neutral. "Yes. There are so many possibilities for you, Rose. No limits. You may even find someone you'd like to date, and–"

"Date?" she sputtered, pushing to her feet.

He swallowed and nodded. "It's only natural. And like I said, you're free to embrace any and every possibility." Her eyes darted down to the ring still encircling her left finger. "I'm not holding you to…to marriage, Rose. There's nothing between us that can't be undone. My marriage track record proves that." He chuckled in an attempt to lighten the topic, but the sound came out rough; strained.

She stared back at him in silence. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, barely above a whisper. "And what if I don't want that? What if I don't want new…relationships?"

He held her gaze. "It's your choice."

She lowered herself back to the stool beside him. "You should have choices too, y'know? There's so much about me you didn't know at first. So much that…complicates things. To say the least. I'm…I'm not a whole person. There are things I'm just not…capable of being."

It was his turn to gape, and then a wave of anger came surging back. He had heard those words about her before. From Reinette. "That. Is. Rubbish," he bit out. "Complete rubbish. Where would you have gotten such an idea?"

She glanced away.

"Reinette," he answered for her, already knowing. "You heard her."

Rose nodded. "She didn't say anything that wasn't true."

He reached for her hand, twining his fingers through hers. "Rose, you are the most capable person I've ever known." She opened her mouth to protest, but he went on. "You've been through hell. You've had to deal with things that no one ever should. That's left scars, yes. Of course it has. But those scars do not and will not define the rest of your existence. I have absolutely no doubt in your ability to overcome every aspect of your past." He paused. "But that doesn't mean you have to overcome those things in order to be with me. For one thing, this…us…isn't a requirement. And for another, if all you wanted from me was friendship, you will _always_ have that, no matter what."

She looked up, lower lip caught between her teeth. "Yeah?"

" _Yes_."

"And…if I wanted…." She trailed off. He waited. "If I wanted…more?" she finally put forth in a quiet, tentative voice.

His answering voice was not tentative. It was sure and absolute. "Then I would give you everything."

-:-:-:-

He would give her everything.

Rose didn't know what to say. She was surprised she had brought herself to even ask the question.

Was she ready for all that he so freely offered? Was that what she even wanted? Did her feelings toward him really run that deeply? He was her friend, yes. The closest friend she had ever known. But was it more than that? She had tried for so long to bury the question, along with everything else, that merely thinking about it was enough to unsteady her. What she felt for John was an emotion Rose didn't have a name for.

Or did she?

A name flashed through her mind then, startling in its intensity.

She feared this unspoken emotion because she didn't know how to deal with it. She had never developed these kinds of feelings for a man before nor ever expected to. She had kept herself so carefully guarded that no one else ever stood a chance of getting past her defenses. But this impossible man had somehow circumvented her defenses and wound his way deeper. He had gained her trust, and somewhere along the way a part of her heart as well. She had never known anyone like him. He made her feel protected and valued and…loved. But could she ever give him the same in return, as he deserved?

One of the issues brought up in her counseling sessions was her fear of intimacy. She understood the reason for such a fear now, but that didn't mean it simply went away. The thought of a man getting close to her still made her heart race and her throat tighten. It was…different with John, though. He could be close to her now and even hold her in his arms without triggering her fears. She felt _safe_ with him. But every touch and embrace shared between them remained platonic. How would she react if that shifted to something more…intense? She didn't know, but there was only one way she ever could.

To try.

On that same token, there were things she knew she _didn't_ want without even having to try. She didn't want to try dating others, as John had so shockingly suggested. The very notion held no appeal for her whatsoever. She realized that not every man was a monster. John had been the one to show her that, too. But not every man was like John, either. She had gotten to know more of her coworkers at TARDIS Corporation, both male and female. But even as she got to know other men, Rose found herself unconsciously comparing them to John. Voices, mannerisms, smiles – there were none that drew her the same inexplicable way as John. The way _everything_ about him drew her in. It wasn't just about needing him anymore. Maybe it went beyond that. Maybe it was about…wanting him.

Though apprehension and uncertainty remained, there was one thing she was certain of, at least. If she was ever going to attempt a deeper relationship with someone, John was the only one she found herself envisioning in such a scenario.

But how did she _tell_ him these things? And how was she supposed to go about attempting this sort of thing without giving him undue expectations? There was still a good chance she wasn't ready and might not be for a very, very long time. She continued to wrestle with the question of whether this was even fair to him.

Rose finally looked up, finding his warm, open gaze upon her. She cleared her throat, her right hand unconsciously twisting the ring on her finger. "I'm not sure how to even go about this type of conversation." She winced at how naive that sounded, but it was true. She had never attempted this kind of relationship before. "I still don't really know where we go from here or where to even start. But…" Her eyes flicked away, then back to his. "I do know that I don't want to try to be with anyone else because they're not…not… _you_. You're my friend. My _best_ friend. And…and more than I can really find the words for. But I don't know how _much_ more," she mumbled, looking away again.

His voice was gentle. And infinitely hopeful. "Oh, Rose. Whatever you want. As much or as little as you want. Just so long as you're willing to give it a chance."

"I don't feel like I'm doing the right thing, though," she confessed on a rush. He stiffened again. "For you, I mean. I just don't know that I can be what you need. What you want. What you deserve. I don't know if I can do all…that. Or even know how. And I've got so much baggage. I–"

He placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her eyes back to his. "That makes two of us. I'm not exactly an expert at relationship. And I don't expect you to change who you are for me, nor do I want you to. I just want you to be _Rose_. You're the woman who makes me smile, makes me happy, makes me feel like I can be so much better with you than I ever could without you, and the woman who has the courage I wish I had when it comes to facing the past."

"Are you saying we're both messed up?" she rejoined with a shy smile.

He laughed, a bit self-deprecating. "No one's perfect."

"I dunno," she murmured. "You're–"

"Shhh." He silenced her with a gentle finger to her lips. "No, Rose. Don't ever put me on a pedestal. I'm not perfect. Far from it. I know you think I've been some sort of…Patron Saint of patience through this. But the truth is I've tried to give you whatever you need, be whatever you need, because of my own selfishness. From the moment I saw you, I wanted you. And I've tried since then to do whatever it took to hold on to you." He glanced down. "Some of those methods were questionable at best, and I've tried since then to be…better at all this. I want, above all else, for you to be happy. But that's also because _I_ can't be happy if you're not. So don't think for one minute that I'm better than anyone else out there. I'm just as selfish and self-serving as the next. And if you want to talk about _baggage_ , well…"

"So, we're both messed up," she reiterated with a tiny smile. She didn't want to argue the matter of who was better or worse. Neither would reach an agreement on that point.

He tilted his head, considering. "How about if we call it a work in progress?" he offered, along with a lopsided smile.

"Deal," she accepted, chuckling softly as she glanced off. She never could look at that smile of his for long without blushing.

His playful tone vanished with his next words, the sudden intensity catching her off-guard. "Come away with me, Rose. Just the two of us. We can start over. We can take time to get to know each other again and do it right this time." Her eyes darted to his, startled. "Not a cruise," he added quickly. "Just a holiday. A week or two, as soon as this whole vile thing with Saxon is over."

"W-where would we go?" she stammered in surprise.

"I've been giving it some thought," he admitted, "hoping you'd agreed. And I thought we could try Scotland."

"Scotland?"

"Yes. I have a small place there. Nothing fancy. Just a little cottage in Haddington. I go there sometimes when I just want to get away. I think you'd like it. We can get away from everything. No pressure, Rose. No expectations. I want you to be entirely comfortable. And even though the cottage is small, there's still enough room for you to have your own space. I just think it would be a good place to give us some solitude and a chance to spend more time together."

The suggestion hung in the air as Rose grappled with a decision. She had grown comfortable with their current arrangement at Gallifrey Manor. She knew what to expect and felt at ease. This would be…different. Much different. But then, maybe that's what she _needed_ , to be nudged outside the confines of her comfort zone. And she _did_ need to try to get closer to John if she was ever going to find out if she could.

At length, Rose finally nodded. "Okay."


	25. Chapter 24

**A/N** My apologies for the long delay in updating! I needed a break, and I decided to step back and focus on NaNoWriMo last month. Thank you SO much to everyone still reading, and I promise regular updates from here out.

* * *

 **Chapter 24**

Harold Saxon was a ruined man.

Upon criminal indictment for his attack on Rose, other similar incidents came to light, with additional charges soon brought. Rose, it seemed, had not been the first. Half a dozen other women came forward, all of whom were previous or current employees of Saxon, and all of whom had been threatened or shamed into silence. It wasn't until the monster was finally caged that they felt safe enough to step forward. The key witness against Harold Saxon, however, was his own wife.

Lucy had not only been able to corroborate Rose's story of the attack, but Lucy herself, it turned out, had been on the receiving end of abuse throughout her rocky three-year marriage. Enough was enough, and she finally found the courage to stand up and end the vicious cycle. Lucy filed for divorce the same day charges were brought.

Saxon was served a twenty-year sentence, with a mandatory five years behind bars before being eligible for parole. Even at that he was getting off light, thanks in part to his deep pockets and high-priced solicitors. No amount of money, however, would be able to salvage his reputation, personally or professionally.

Saxon & Company was soon dissolved, former business associates breaking all ties with the disgraced businessman. Harold Saxon was finished, another of Rose's demons now slain.

Rose's desire to leave her troubled past behind and move forward was stronger than ever. She was finally ready to focus on the future. And John, she knew, was a part of that, even if the exact role he would play was still undefined. She didn't yet know what might come of their impending Scottish holiday, and with the unknown came a sense of trepidation. But it was not enough to hold her back this time.

Rose was still under court-ordered counseling sessions for the time being, but she was given not only the consent but the encouragement of her counselor to embark on the two week trip. The matter of relationships was one of the issues being dealt with in her sessions. Her relationship with John factored prominently in those discussions. Rose had been urged to allow her emotions, feelings and natural desires to emerge. If such feelings existed, she was encouraged to explore them, in progressive steps, without shame or fear. But talk and encouragement could only get her so far. There would come a time when she would have to put it into practice. That time was now.

-:-:-:-

A little over an hour from takeoff in London, John and Rose were on the ground in Edinburgh. From there, a rental car took them the additional twenty miles to Haddington.

It was a perfect summer day, the mid-August weather mild and breezy, the sky a clear azure expanse above as they loaded their bags into a shiny blue Audi and prepared to drive east. The car was no Jaguar, but John insisted it at least be blue. Rose smiled to herself at this. It was a little thing, but one more on the list of quirks unique to John – the man she came to know a little more each day.

"Ready?" John asked, sliding behind the wheel and giving her a smile. Though he wore a relaxed expression, the subtle bouncing twitch of his left knee was a dead giveaway to his nervous excitement.

He wasn't the only one feeling anxious, Rose thought. Even so, she nodded and smiled back. "Yeah, let's go."

John turned the key, shifted into drive and accelerated toward the A1.

The two chatted comfortably, remarking on the passing sights. The bustling city faded behind them, the open road carrying them through smaller townships and fertile crofts. Taking it in with inquisitive eyes, Rose found her nervousness overshadowed by excitement. This was her first trip to Scotland. Until now, the farthest north she had been was Blackpool, and the scenery didn't quite compare.

Soon they were exiting the A1 motorway, meandering alongside the River Tyne through the heart of Haddington. It was a charming little town, marked by historic brownstones and an open market lively with customers. Rose looked forward to exploring the area later on. For now they continued east, further into the countryside, winding their way through picturesque hills and pasturelands as they drove East Lothian's country lanes at a leisurely pace.

"Nearly there now," John informed, flicking his gaze to Rose and offering a smile.

Rose smiled back, but she could feel a knot of tension coiling in her belly as they neared their destination. Her nervousness was making a resurgence. It wasn't fear, exactly. She wasn't second-guessing this trip _or_ John. It was more a sense of anxious anticipation. This was new. Untested and full of unknowns. That didn't make it a bad thing, but it _did_ make it an unnerving thing.

They turned off the rural road and down a single lane byroad, all the more remote. After another mile or so, the car slowed and turned onto a narrow, overgrown dirt drive. The car jostled and bounced as it cut a path through a thick carpet of cotton grass and yellow primrose, winding its way up to their destination.

Nestled in the fertile Lowland valley, the small stone cottage sat in serene cohabitation with its picturesque surroundings.

John parked the car and cut the engine. The hush of the countryside was an immediate contrast to the fading hum of the motor. It took a moment for Rose's ears to adjust to the sudden tranquility.

John stepped from the car and Rose followed, feeling a pleasant pull in her legs as stiff muscles stretched, recovering from the confinement of both the drive and earlier flight. She drew a deep, appreciative lungful of the clean air that greeted her. Rose's eyes scanned the rustic panorama, taking in the lush greens of the dale, the darker hues of the hedge hemming the cottage, the tall, weather-worn silo behind the property, and finally the cottage itself.

John had termed it quaint, which was an accurate, if general, description. Gray stone made up the small dwelling, with verdant ivy branches spreading thick shoots around the four front windows and reaching toward the second story. Two stone steps led up to the front stoop, where a slightly weathered, deep blue door beckoned its dwellers inward.

"Welcome to my home away from home," John announced, rounding the car and coming to stand beside Rose.

She turned to him, brushing back errant strands of hair stirred by the breeze.

"'S lovely."

He smiled. "I'm glad you like it so far. There's still the best bits to see… Shall we?"

John offered his hand, and Rose took it without pause.

Leaving their bags for now, they ventured inside. The old blue door creaked on its worn hinges as it swung open in welcome. The wide wood planks beneath their feet looked well-trodden, while the walls appeared to have a fresh coat of plaster. Throughout was a similar blending of original versus refurbished, with modern comforts not compromising the old rustic charm.

John closed the door behind them, and the two exchanged an anxious smile. _What happens now_? Rose thought.

John cut the silence with small talk. "It can get a little musty, but a few hours with the windows open should do the trick. We'll have to stock the kitchen if we want to eat in, but I can probably dig up some tea in the meantime."

"I'm fine for now," Rose answered. He nodded. "So… How long have you owned this place?"

He let go of her hand, reaching to scratch his head as he shrugged. "Oh, a few years? I just needed a place to retreat. The Manor is spacious, of course. But sometimes my feet itch to get away. That's when I come up here. It was a bit rundown when I first got it, but a little care and attention was all it needed. That, and the addition of central heating and a few plumbing upgrades."

Rose walked further in, exploring the cozy living quarters, glancing at the spines of worn books that lined the fireplace mantel – from Burns to Douglas Adams. She crossed into the adjoining kitchen, pausing to examine the large stone oven. Rose peeked inside at the blackened baking chamber, imagining steaming loaves pulled fresh from the wood fire.

"That's an original feature," John commented, noting her interest.

She turned a smile on him over her shoulder. "I guessed as much."

"I tried to keep as many original fixtures as possible. There's something to be said for preserving the beauty of the past."

"You're just an old romantic at heart, aren't you?" she quipped, then felt her face heat a touch as the words sank in.

John didn't tease or offer a flirtatious waggle of his eyebrows. Instead he smiled almost shyly, which oddly enough still had a quickening effect on her heart. "Sometimes, I suppose." He cleared his throat, switching topics. "Now then! I'll show you to the bedroom." John froze. "Erm…so you can unpack, that is. I didn't mean…you know… Anyway, yes. Unpacking. That's what I meant."

Rose glanced down, nodding. Was it going to be like this between them the entire time? Eggshells and general awkwardness? "S okay. I know what you meant."

He tugged at his ear. "Right. Yes. Umm…it's up this way..."

Rose followed behind him, John leading the way toward the stairs to the left of the entry. They climbed the wood steps to the second floor, the aged planks groaning in protest underfoot.

"The staircase is quite sturdy, despite what these complaining steps say," John assured her.

Rose chuckled. She liked this place already. It had definite character.

At the top of the stairs, John directed her to the first room on the right. In contrast to the lavish décor of Gallifrey Manor, this room was minimalistic by comparison, with its simple oak furnishings, hook rug and patchwork quilt. It was perfect.

"This is the larger of the two bedrooms," John said. "You can take this one." He crossed the room and opened the double doors to the oak wardrobe across from the old four-poster. "Your things should all fit in here." He turned back, sliding his hands in his pockets. "I'm afraid there isn't an adjoining en-suite. We'll have to take turns with the one in the hall, but I'll give you first dibs in the mornings."

"You sure you won't need to go first to get an early start on your hair?" Rose teased, feeling more comfortable as she became familiar with her new surroundings.

His eyes brightened, the tension easing a little. He grinned back, stance relaxing as he leaned against the side of the wardrobe, one ankle crossed over the other. "Much to the envy of the population at large, this impressive state of follicle perfection occurs naturally."

"Never a case of bedhead, then?" she quipped.

"I think you already know the answer to that." The words and the low tone in which they were delivered seemed to slip out before he could stop them, his mouth clamping shut a second after.

Rose hoped the rush of warmth to her cheeks wasn't obvious. "So…how many rooms, did you say?" she diverted.

He cleared his throat and pushed off from the wardrobe. "One more bedroom. It's this way…I'll show you."

She followed him back out into the hall, pausing briefly to show her the small en-suite between the two rooms, before entering the second sleeping quarters.

"This is the smaller of the two and doesn't get the afternoon sun, so it's always a bit chillier. Plus it doesn't have a standing wardrobe, just a small chest. I'll take it. I'm sure you'll be more comfortable in the other."

She chewed her lip, eyeing the smaller, sparse space. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable in your own place. I'm sure this room would be fine for me."

"The cottage is just as much yours too, Rose," he answered automatically. "I…sorry. I didn't mean to presume… I just want you to be comfortable," he backtracked.

Rose drew a breath, shook her head slightly and stepped closer. She flickered a smile. "Look, I know you're just trying to make me comfortable. And I'm trying to act comfortable. And we're both trying so hard that _neither_ of us can be comfortable. So let's just agree not to be all…weird."

He smiled then, one corner of his mouth quirking up. "Weeell, weird is sort of my specialty. But I think I _can_ relax…as long as I know you feel at ease here."

She thought about it for a minute, taking time to really assess how she felt. "I do, actually. I…well…I'm glad I came."

His eyes softened. "I'm glad, too. Very glad."

"Thank you," she said, earnest. "For bringing me here, I mean. I really do like this place. And I like seeing this side of you – the side that can be just as at home in an old stone cottage as it can in a posh Manor."

"Mmm," he hummed reflectively. "I suppose I am. Though it's not really just the cottage that makes this place home for me. When I'm here, I actually spend the majority of my time elsewhere."

Her forehead creased as her brows drew inward, wondering what he meant. "You do?"

He nodded. "I'd like to show you." John grinned like an excited kid. "I'm quite eager, actually. It's one of my favorite places on the planet."

She raised her brows. "Well, now you've got me curious."

"It's something I haven't shared with many people…apart from Wilfred. Not that many others would even be interested. But…I just like to keep it to myself. I'd like you to see, though. It's a part of myself I'd like to share with you." His tentative smile revealed a trace of vulnerability. "Ironic, that. I typically _don't_ open up about myself." He shrugged and glanced off. "You're an exception. Anyway! Would you like to see the real reason I bought this place?"

Rose was itching with curiosity as she nodded. "Yes, please."

"Brilliant! You're going to like this. Allons-y!"

Flashing a manic grin, he practically bounced from the room. Rose couldn't help but grin back as she followed after him, back down the stairs, through the cottage and toward the back door.

Once outside, he motioned her toward the old silo at the rear of the property. Shrugging, Rose trudged through the beaten grass toward the curious destination.

She stood beside him at the base of the weathered cylindrical structure and peered up, puzzled. "Some sort of hidden treasure inside?" Rose quipped.

"Oh, yes," John replied, with an enigmatic waggle of his eyebrows. He then commenced climbing the rusted steel ladder that led to the access at the top. "It's quite safe," he called down to her, noting her hesitation.

Still perplexed but growing more intrigued, Rose followed, careful of her footing on the narrow metal rungs. "I can see why you fell in love with this place," she muttered dryly.

He glanced down, smirking. "Wait and see, o ye of little faith."

She looked up, chuckling. The chuckle died in her throat, and her mouth went slack as she took in the view this angle provided. John's form-fitting pinstripes revealed every contraction of his firm glutes as his agile limbs carried him upward.

"Doing all right?" he called down.

"Great!" Rose answered, swiftly averting her eyes so as not to be caught ogling his bum.

Had she been ogling his bum? Actually… Actually, _yes_. That was exactly what she had been doing.

A flash of embarrassment and guilt shot through her. _Blimey_ , what would her mum say? No. No, Rose made an effort to stop that train of thought in its tracks. One area she'd made slow but discernible headway in dealing with was her hang-ups and restricted mindset when it came to the opposite sex. Despite her mum drilling the merits of "decency and propriety" into her from a young age, there was nothing inherently wrong in feeling attraction, she tried to tell herself, recalling her counseling sessions.

It was…natural. And there was no use pretending that John Smith was not a _very_ attractive man.

It wasn't as if she had not noticed attractive qualities in men before, from a safe and detached distance. But with John it was somehow…different. More. There was no such thing as detached in his case. She knew why, of course. Because the attraction was not simply superficial. Along with it came feelings that ran deeper. And with those feelings came possibilities. Those possibilities were still new, undefined and growing. Even still, the thought alone caused her heart to speed its pace.

"Here we are!" John called out, reaching the top.

He opened the access door and stepped through, then popped his head back out and motioned her inside. Rose followed, climbing the last few rungs and hoisting herself in.

Her eyes widened as they swept the interior. This was no silo. Not anymore, at least. The upper level was floored in. And in the center of this circular platform sat an enormous telescope.

Realization dawned. "Oh… Oh, _wow_. This…this is an actual…"

"Observatory," he finished, pride evident in his voice. A flick of a switch beside him had the domed roof partitioning, drawing back like a curtain, revealing the open sky. Her eyes widened that little bit more. "I converted it myself, adapting the space to suit the purpose. Right size, and the perfect location, with no city glare to obstruct the view."

"You actually thought to build an observatory – a proper observatory – out of a silo?" she repeated, surprised and equally awed.

He shrugged. "Why not? I could see the brilliant prospects straight away. The possibilities. There is often _so_ much potential if we just look closely enough."

Rose smiled at him, then directed her wondering gaze to the massive telescope. She wished it were already night so she could peer up-close at the starry sky. She could hardy wait. "What a view this thing must get," she remarked, stepping up for a closer look.

"Especially this time of year," John agreed. "August is exceptional."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, excited by a sudden realization. "It's the middle of August. Does that mean we can see the…what was the name of that meteor shower you once told me about?"

He beamed back at her. "The Perseids. You remembered!"

"Hard to forget. You _did_ go on and on about it."

His expression softened; deepened. "Remember at the time when I said I wanted to take you stargazing?"

She thought back. "You said you knew the perfect place. This is what you meant, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "I… Well, I wanted to share this with you."

Her lips pulled up in a soft smile. "I'm glad you did. 'S amazing." Rose ran a hand over the telescope's base, marveling at its size. "Wish I'd seen how you got this up here."

He walked around to the other side, patting it fondly. "Piece by piece."

"You reconstructed it yourself?"

He leaned against its side, arms casually crossed. "Designed and built it from scratch, actually."

Her eyes widened, then she smiled. "Why am I not surprised?"

"You shouldn't be. But you _should_ be impressed."

She was, actually. Very impressed. But it was more fun to have a go at his ego. "You're a bit full of yourself, you know that?"

Instead of the witty comeback she'd expected, he grew serious. "Not really. From the outside, maybe. But not really. I know my flaws better than anyone. I can be stubborn to a fault, too often prefer to ignore shortcomings rather than confront them, and tend to find that guarding my feelings, though unhealthy, is often much less complicated."

"You? Guarded?" Rose challenged. She wasn't being flippant. She'd honestly never thought of him this way. John was always the one so open with her, so unafraid of voicing his feelings. She envied that.

"Not so much with you," he admitted. "You… Well, you bring me out of that more than I would have thought possible. I find myself _wanting_ to confide in you…to share my feelings with you." Shyly, she glanced down. He seemed to fear he had come on too strong. "But never beyond what you're comfortable with."

"I know," she assured him. John was always so careful to be sensitive of her feelings and remain within her comfort zone. "I just… I wish I could be more like that. About…feelings, an' stuff."

He smiled gently and shook his head. "Just be yourself, Rose. That's all I want for you. I don't want you to feel held back, but I don't want you to feel pressured to be a certain way, either."

She looked into his eyes, his radiating sincerity. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"Of course I do. I told you there would be no pressure during this time together, and I meant it. There are no expectations, no requirements, nothing that should or shouldn't happen. I just want us to have a chance to relax after everything that's gone on recently; to spend a bit of time just…getting to know each other more." He moved closer, nudging her shoulder with his. "Let's just relax and enjoy it here. Proper mates. Okay?"

She breathed out and nodded. "Yeah. I want that, too."

"Good." He grinned. "Now that's settled, what do you want to do today? Sightseeing? Indoors? Outdoors? Town or country? Land or sea? Or… _Oh_! If you fancy a trip farther north we can search out the Lock Ness Monster! I have my own theory, of course. _Weeell_ , geologists have suggested as much, but they no doubt got the idea from me. I wrote a paper on it once: Seismic gas, thanks to the Great Glen Fault that lies beneath. Gas releases through the fault, disturbs the surface of the water, creates an optical illusion, and presto! A monster is born. We could set up a seismogram and–"

"Chips," she said simply, interrupting his ramble.

"Sorry, what?"

"Chips. Do they have chips in Scotland?"

He frowned. "Well…yes. Of course. But…"

"Good. I'm _starving_."

He chuckled. "All right. Chips it is."

She grinned. "Thank you." Rose did something then she had never done. Or at least, had never initiated: she opened her arms and wrapped him in a hug. And it felt so natural she didn't even give it a second's hesitation. She pulled back, bouncing on her feet as she flicked her eyes to the telescope. "And then tonight you can show me the stars…"

His grin started slow, and didn't stop until it outshone hers. "I think that can be arranged."


	26. Chapter 25

**A/N** More of John's past comes to light as he and Rose delve deeper.

* * *

 **Chapter 25**

There was no limit to where John would have taken Rose for dinner, yet she simply requested chips. In truth, nothing pleased him more. It meant she was comfortable enough to just be herself. No pretense. In keeping with her wish, dinner that evening was a casual affair. They drove into town and ate at an outdoor bistro along Sidegate, the open air dining perfect for enjoying the mild evening.

Over the course of dinner, the conversation was light and the mood relaxed. John good-naturedly scoffed at Rose's narrow cuisine preferences, vowing to make a haggis lover of her before the trip was over. She agreed to try it if the meal included some form of pears for dessert. Apparently the look on his face was worthy of a giggling fit that drew the attention of their fellow diners, and inevitably had John joining in despite her humor at his expense.

John couldn't remember when he had enjoyed himself more. It was so easy just _being_ with Rose. He had felt that early on, but at the time there had also been many complicating factors. Not anymore, he hoped. They were finally at a point where they could just be friends – the best of friends – with nothing else standing in the way of that.

The question remained of whether they would ever be more. But John had been honest with Rose when he told her there was no pressure for that. He already felt closer to her than he had anyone. He was more at ease, more at peace, and genuinely happier than he could ever remember being. How could that not already be more than enough? Whatever else may or may not develop between them, John already felt like the luckiest bloke on the face of the earth.

That didn't mean he didn't still _want_ more. Of course he did. He fell deeper in love with this woman every day. Sometimes he literally _ached_ for her – ached to show her the full extent of his love and desire. Yet truly loving someone meant putting that person first. If Rose didn't want or wasn't ready for that form of intimacy, then it was a line he would not cross. If the only way he could demonstrate his love was by holding its physical expression in check, he would do that for her. She was worth that and more, and what they had he would not jeopardize.

After dinner, the two explored a few shops along High Street and took a leisurely stroll alongside the river. As it grew dark, however, Rose was anxious to get back to the cottage. John wasn't sure who was more excited for their next activity, him or Rose.

He thought back to the first time he had offered to take her stargazing. She had rebuffed the idea. He knew now it wasn't due to a lack of interest in the activity, but uncertainty over the one extending the offer. Further proof of how far they'd come.

Back at the cottage, she barely had the patience to wait for him to gather the standard stargazing gear of warm blankets and a steaming thermos of tea. She was thrumming with enthusiasm, eager to get her first glimpse through the telescope. Prime viewing for the meteor shower wouldn't be until the pre-dawn hours, but there were still endless wonders to be seen on such a clear night.

With matched grins of excitement, they ascended the silo.

Once inside, Rose situated the blankets as John parted the roof and began adjusting the telescope for an optimum view of the universe beyond. One of the things John had always appreciated about this place was the seclusion. Now he relished the company. _This_ company. Witnessing the wonders of the universe in solitude now seemed pointless in comparison to having someone to share it with.

"What would you like to see first? Any preferences?" he asked.

"I dunno. Anything, really. I don't really even know what's out there," Rose confessed. "I wish I knew more about that sort of thing. Might even like to study it sometime."

John paused in his adjustments, turning to look at her. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I guess 'cause it's something that's always interested me. Back on the estate, sometimes I'd sneak out in the middle of the night and go up to the roof. The view wasn't the greatest, with the city glare an' all. But I'd look up at the stars and wish…" She laughed quietly, shaking her head.

"What?" His prompt was gentle.

"I'd wish I could be out there…away from nightmares and fears and–" Rose closed her eyes, then opened to focus on him, sounding embarrassed. "It's daft, I know."

John shook his head, voice low and words earnest. "Not at all. It's something else we have in common." They regarded each other a moment. John glanced back to the telescope, remembering why they were here. "So…fancy an up-close look?"

She beamed back at him. "Yes, please!"

He grinned. "Alrighty, then. Plenty of options on a night like this. Let's see… To the north we have Polaris and the nearby constellation Cassiopeia, to the south there's the Summer Triangle of Deneb, Vega and Altair, along with the 'Arc to Arcturus' which joins the northern and southern sky. And then there's–"

"Can I see the moon?" her wondering voice cut in.

He glanced at her upturned profile, her eyes locked on the waxing crescent. With a smile, he focused the telescope on the object of her interest and motioned her over.

"There we are. Have a look..."

Eagerly, Rose moved in beside him and peered into the eyepiece. She gasped in wonder as the lunar surface was revealed in vivid detail.

"That's…that's _amazing_ ," she breathed, taking in the craterous landscape. "Oh, wow. It looks so _close_. I've seen pictures on telly, but seeing it like _this_ …it's just…I can't even describe it."

"Mmm," he hummed in full agreement. "Even though it's not much more than silicon, magnesium and iron, it's nonetheless extraordinary. Controls the ocean's tide, stabilizes Earth's rotation, marks the cycle of each month, _and_ serves as a rather brilliant nightlight to boot."

She glanced at him. "You really know a lot about space and whatnot."

He shrugged. "Like I said before, it's a hobby. Like you, I've always been fascinated by it."

Rose returned her gaze to the telescope. "Yeah…I can see why."

"The possibilities are boundless and the discoveries endless," he continued, delighted to have someone like-minded to share his enthusiasm. "Just think of it, Rose. It's like you said… That, out there, is the ultimate escape. Imagine actually _being_ out there, touching those stars, strolling those planets…"

He could hear the sheer wonder in her response. "It'd be… _amazing_. Do you think people will ever get that far? To other planets, I mean?"

"Oh, of course. Mankind is excelling by leaps and bounds. Off-world human colonists might not be that far off. I might even be one of them," he added with a grin.

"I'd sign up," Rose said, grinning back. She chuckled. "Listen to us. We sound like a couple kids wanting to be astronauts when we grow up."

His eyes remained skyward, voice wistful. "Oh, who wouldn't want that at any age? A life of limitless travel. No ties, no boundaries, no stopping. A person could just…run and run…"

"Running to or running from?" she quietly mused, likely to herself as much as him.

His voice was as distant as the stars. "Both, I suppose. Running toward bright new adventures, running from dark shadows of the past." He paused, voice lowering, roughening around the edges. "We all have demons that chase us."

Their eyes met in the near darkness. Her gaze briefly flicked back to the sky as a streak of light cut across the black expanse. "Oh…," she whispered. "Did you see that?"

"An early dazzler," he noted. "We'll see a few of those before the peak hours."

Rose lowered herself down on one of the spread blankets, lying supine beneath the open sky. John followed, stretching his long legs out as he reclined beside her. They stayed that way a moment, minds drifting.

"You said we all have demons," she murmured a moment later. "What are John Smith's?"

He turned his head to look at her, hair spread about her like a golden halo in the starlight, eyes reflecting the luminous pinpricks above. He did not want to ruin this moment, sully its beauty by invoking the ugly ghosts of his past. Yet how could he hold anything back from her? She, more than anyone, deserved his honesty.

"You know everything there is to know about me," Rose went on. "You know about my history, my past, my family. But…I don't really know as much about you, do I? Not really. I mean…I know you lost your family when you were young, and I don't want to hurt you by talking about it. But…"

John turned on his side, head propped on his hand as he gazed down at her. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know, Rose," he promised. "To the best of my ability."

She bit her lower lip, seeming unsure. Rose sat up, tucking her legs beneath her. "You don't have to talk about it if it's too painful for you. I know what that's like. But I've also found out it can…well…sometimes it can help to have someone to talk to."

He exhaled and nodded. She had him there. "Sometimes, yes. But…I don't really remember many details. What is it you want to know?"

Her voice was hesitant. "Would you…tell me more about your family? You said they all died in a fire when you were young, and that you were the only survivor. What happened?"

John sat up beside her, arms resting across his drawn knees. He gazed off, casting his mind back to distant memories – bits and pieces that never quite fit together. "I don't really know. I was young, no more than six, I suppose. My parents, grandparents and several close friends all died that same night."

Beside him, he heard Rose's quick intake of breath at the scope of the loss. He kept on. If he had to talk about this he just wanted to get it done.

"They had come down to my parent's place on holiday, or so I'm told. I don't really remember it myself. There was…a fire. The cause was never clear. Everyone died but me. Don't ask me how I survived. I've never been able to answer that question."

"I'm so sorry," Rose offered in a gentle voice. "But the important thing is you _did_ survive."

He laughed once, harsh; strained. "Yeah. The lucky one."

"And then you found your way to Wilfred," she pointed out, trying to sound positive. "You told me he was a member of the local council when your case came through. Sounds like that was meant to be."

John felt his brows pull together as his mind went down a darker path than the one she was trying to take. "He never talks of it, my past. He says I should let it go. But it's like…he knows something more. Something he doesn't _want_ me to think about." John's hands balled into fists on his knees. "But if I could just _remember_ it. I have no clear recollection of that night. Only vague impressions."

"Sounds familiar," Rose murmured. She cleared her throat. "But it was a long time ago. You were little," she reasoned.

"But I should remember _something_ ," he countered in a desperate voice, the thought having vexed him long before this conversation. "And I don't just mean about the fire. My childhood itself… I know the general facts, but not the _details_. Like the secret little places I might have played, all the little things only a child would know. And if I try to think about my family at all, to recall them, it's indistinct. I can't see their faces. I can't distinguish their voices. And there are no photographs or videos because that sort of thing was all lost in the fire. You'd think that would make it all easier to forget, but it doesn't. Even if I can't see them, I know they're there. It's like…they're _always_ there, haunting me in the background of every thought. Accusing me for…" He broke off then, unable to go on.

"For what?" she quietly urged, trying to help him excise his demons.

"For surviving," he whispered, hoarse.

"Oh, John…"

"I dream of that night," he rushed out on a harsh breath, eyes squeezing shut. "No details, just…in the abstract. I can hear screams, and the screams become louder and louder until it doesn't just sound like a few. It sounds like…billions crying out as they burn. And I can see flames. Flames so high and engulfing that the entire sky turns burnt orange…"

Consumed by grim thoughts, John's only lifeline back to the present was the feel of a warm hand covering his own. His eyes opened and found hers. A fresh stab of pain pierced his chest. She thought she had heard the worst. She had not.

"Is that why you wanted to help me learn and deal with _my_ past?" Rose asked, his nature and motives now becoming a little clearer.

"Partly, yes," he admitted. "I know how inner monsters can eat you piece by piece; how undefined guilt can slowly devour you. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Regret flickered across Rose's face as she no doubt recalled the man she had fatally wounded as a child. "That's different, though. You have nothing in your past to feel guilty about."

"I'm not so sure…" He trailed off, looking back up into the inky sky.

"Survivors guilt is a genuine reaction, I suppose. But it's–"

He shook his head. "It's not just that."

"Then…what?"

He leveled her with a look so dark that he felt her hand tremble atop his. "I think I was responsible."

Rose was momentarily silenced, clearly taken aback by such a confession. "John, how could you…why would you even think that?"

He pulled his hand from hers. He didn't deserve any attempts to be comforted. "Because it's as if I just…know. I _feel_ it. It's a part of me. You remember me telling you about the accident at TARDIS Corporation a few years back? When that happened, when people were hurt and someone _died_ , it was like…reliving the past. As if that wasn't the first time I was responsible for something like that."

"You _weren't_ responsible," Rose tried to insist. "I don't care what Joan said. It wasn't your fault. Even the investigators agreed with that."

"But I felt this long before that incident," he went on. "Not a memory. Just a _feeling_. Distant, almost like it's from another lifetime. But it's there. And I think…I think that's why Wilfred has never talked much about it. He knew the case. He knew the details. I've always felt like he's known more about my past than he's let on. And I think that's because he's trying to protect me. And that's why I've blocked it all from my mind, because the recollection is just too much to bear."

Rose shook her head in disagreement, rising on her knees and shuffling closer. "You think you're responsible for killing your family when you were a child? No. You would never… _could_ never. I know you couldn't."

He raked his hands through his hair. "Even if it wasn't intentional, that doesn't absolve blame."

She reached for his hand again, refusing to let go this time. "John, you mean to tell me you've felt guilt over the death of your family since childhood, all because of…of vague impressions and assumptions?"

He lifted a brow, not in condemnation or reproach, but in irony. "Do you think it's impossible for something heinous to lurk in one's childhood? That those vague impressions aren't there for a reason?"

Rose paused before answering. He knew she was thinking back on her own childhood nightmares. "Not impossible, no," she had to admit. "But whatever may or may _not_ have happened in the past, there's no changing it now. If there's one thing I've finally started to learn for myself, it's that some things have to be left in the past if you're ever gonna try to move forward."

He stared at her, and for moment it felt as if they were seeing each other for the first time. _Really_ seeing each other. Maybe she was meant to help him as much as he was her. Rose's words resonated inside him. Whatever was in his past was indeed in his past, and there was no changing it. If Rose was strong enough to face her demons and move forward, maybe he could, too. John realized he had never really moved past this. He had simply learned to carry it with him. Maybe it _was_ time to finally try to move on, for both of them.

"Yeah," he finally answered. "Maybe you're right."

She offered a tentative smile. He squeezed her hand in response. Exhaling, Rose repositioned herself beside him. Softly, her head came to rest against his shoulder. He turned his nose into her hair and breathed her in, eyes briefly closing as he grounded himself in the present.

"Thank you," Rose eventually whispered. "Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn't easy."

"Thank you for listening. I know that wasn't easy, either."

"I s'pose we're even."

Yes, he thought. In many ways. "Yeah... I suppose we are."


	27. Chapter 26

**A/N** As things continue to progress, Rose comes to a decision.

* * *

 **Chapter 26**

John and Rose made the most of the next two weeks, enjoying a proper holiday. There was the observatory, of course. Rose's love of the stars had become insatiable, and each weather-permitting night found her and John studying the wonders of the universe up close. She now had no doubt of what she wanted to study once she'd saved enough to begin university. This pleased John to no end, eagerly encouraging her planned pursuit.

Their time together consisted of more than just stargazing, however. By day, they shared picnic lunches and treks along the coast, exploring the scenic footpaths through Longniddry and Aberlady Bay. In the evenings, dinner ranged from casual meals at local taverns, to the occasional formal affair that had Rose donning attractive frocks and putting in that little bit of extra attention on hair and makeup.

John never failed to take note, offering appreciative compliments, his lingering gaze caught traveling her form on more than one occasion. Though growing more comfortable with such attention and even feeling a certain sense of womanly satisfaction, that dark, hooded gaze of his still made Rose blush. Yet she knew there was more to the way John looked at her than mere attraction. He knew what lay beneath – the good, the bad, the struggles, the victories – and he accepted it, accepted her, completely.

In turn, he had shared his own struggles and fears, allowing her to know painful details of the darkness in his own past. This brought more to Rose than just a sense of equality. It allowed her to give back, to support John as he had her and to offer the same acceptance. Beginning their time together on such a heavy note might have weighed down the rest of their holiday, but it didn't. Instead the clearing of the air left them both lighter and more at ease from that point forward.

Each day together brought a new adventure and a new level of closeness as they took on the role of proper tourists. They explored East Lothian's various historical sights, including Tantallon Castle and St. Mary's Church, and toured attractions such as the National Museum of Flight and, of course, the Musselburgh Racecourse. They even ventured into Edinburgh to stalk the old haunts of the Proclaimers as Rose, with fond amusement, discovered John's fanboy fixation. She was happy to indulge him, glad he could have moments of childlike enthusiasm. She knew so much of his childhood had been lost, spent as a displaced, lonely little boy. Together, bit by bit, they were both moving beyond the ghosts of their past.

All the while their connection deepened. It wasn't forced or contrived. It just…happened. Conversations ranged from deep personal issues, with Rose opening up even more about her lingering apprehensions. In turn, John voiced his own fears of commitment due to personal losses and a failed marriage. Rose came to realize what a leap it had been for him to open himself to her as he had, being emotionally guarded by nature.

Their conversations weren't all life and soul, but even their small talk was significant, providing each an opportunity to learn even more about the other.

Rose revealed that while she loved chips she despised crisps, her favorite color was pink, and the hoop earrings she often wore were a purchase made for herself at the age of thirteen with earnings from pet sitting. Her mum, however, would not allow her to wear them until she was at least sixteen, at which point she rarely took them off.

Of John, Rose learned not only of his band preferences, but that he had a quirky fondness for the Muppet Movie, his love of bananas bordered on an addiction, and he had something of an obsession with _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ series, having read every book more times than he could recount.

As their time together progressed, Rose began to feel almost as if she had known John her whole life. He had become not just a friend but her best mate, the hand she now took without conscious thought, and often the source of the smile now commonplace on her face. Rose knew more about John than she had anyone, and the same could be said for what he knew of her. The closer they became the more they just…fit. Being with him felt natural, to the point that it was now hard to imagine a time when he had not been a part of her life.

Their increasing closeness was not strictly on an emotional level, either. They had begun to grow closer in a physical sense as well. Hugs and handholding had extended to nestling close on a spread blanket beneath the stars, and the frequent exchanging of innocent touches. John would tuck her hair behind her ears while stopping to chat along a breezy bay, his fingers lingering just a tad longer than they used to. Rose would idly caress his arm as they reclined together on the couch, reading on cloudy evenings.

And then there were the occasional kisses. Brief and chaste but significant nonetheless. Significant because it didn't cause Rose to retreat. Instead it made her want…more. John had begun placing a gentle kiss to her forehead each night before they parted for bed. Then one night last week, it had seemed only natural for Rose to reciprocate with a kiss to his cheek. It seemed so natural, in fact, that she hadn't even paused to consider it until her mouth was pulling away, the tingle of his day-old stubble lingering on her sensitized lips. It had become a nightly ritual after that.

As they neared the end of their two-week holiday together, Rose pondered this deep, intense feeling that had taken root inside her, no longer able to ignore it. She came to a thrilling, terrifying conclusion that perhaps should have been no surprise at all.

She had fallen for John Smith. Hard.

And this, Rose knew, began long before these two weeks together. The feelings stirred inside her were unlike anything she had ever experienced, yet she knew this was not a passing fancy, a first crush or the result of a brief infatuation. No, it was much more consequential. Her heart was wholly and irrevocably tangled up with his, to the point that no matter what course her life took from here, she knew she wanted him to be a part of it. It was no longer possible to imagine her future any other way. She wanted him in her life. And not just as a friend. She wanted him…closer. The desire to be near him had become a slow, insistent yearning.

Simply put, Rose wanted a more intimate relationship with him. How intimate remained to be seen. She still wasn't sure how much she was ready for or capable of. But she was ready to begin finding out.

-:-:-:-

With two days remaining of their time in Scotland, the rain moved in. It was sporadic that morning, then heavy and relentless by late afternoon. So rather than go out, John and Rose decided to eat in that evening.

Nights like this John would dress down, a rarity Rose secretly delighted in. Jacket and tie discarded, John rolled the sleeves of his light blue Oxford to his elbows, ready to undertake meal prep.

They moved about the small cottage kitchen, sharing the cooking duties as if this had been a long-standing routine. Rose chopped fresh salad greens while John brought seasoned chicken breasts to a sizzle in the skillet. Rose was, much to John's delight, acquiring a taste for many traditional Scottish dishes, but a previous night's supper of haggis _and_ black pudding left her in need of something lighter tonight.

"Look at us," John remarked, turning the browned chicken with a pair of tongs. "We look so…"

"Skilled?" Rose interjected with a grin.

"Domestic," he specified.

The word did not seem to roll pleasantly off his tongue, causing Rose a brief flash of uncertainty. "Is that…a bad thing?"

He shrugged. "Not bad, per se. It's just that I've never thought of myself as the domestic sort. Never was before. I still don't see myself as such, really. But these times with you – not just the adventurous activities but the ordinary things, like cooking or doing dishes or going to the market – I find myself not only doing it without minding but actually _enjoying_ it."

"You enjoy doing dishes?" she chuckled, a little unsure of how to respond to something that felt like a profound confession, albeit in that roundabout way of his.

He gave a quick, almost shy smile. "I suppose it's not the task but the company."

Rose fought the timid instinct to duck her eyes or turn away. Instead she met his gaze and smiled back.

They were soon plating their simple but tasty supper, John snagging a bottle of chardonnay to pair with the meal as they settled at the small butcher-block table.

"How often do you come up here?" Rose asked, spearing a plump piece of chicken with her fork. What she really wanted to ask was when he might bring her back again.

John poured wine for each of them, placing a glass of the golden liquid before her. "Not as often as I'd like, but I try to get away at least two or three times a year. It helps me unwind."

Rose swallowed her bite and nodded. "Yeah... 'S lovely here."

He smiled warmly over the rim of his glass. "I'm glad you like it."

"I do." Rose took a sip of wine, then lowered the glass, eyes fixed on him. "I've loved it here. It's been….good. Really good."

He cleared his throat and fiddled with his napkin, sounding a touch nervous. "This was the first of many times, I hope."

"Yeah," she breathed. "I hope so, too." Feeling her face grow warm under his intensifying gaze, she tried to lighten the moment. "Since I still need to build my taste for haggis and black pudding, I might need a few return trips."

John grinned. "Aye, that ye do. We'll make a proper Scottish lass of ye yet," he drawled in a rumbly Scottish burr.

Her mouth went dry, unprepared for the sudden sensual effect. Rose closed her mouth and attempted to swallow. "That was…umm…a pretty fair impersonation of Sean Connery."

John scrunched his face in obvious affront. "Sean Connery? _Sean Connery?_ I'll have you know that was pure John Smith!"

She couldn't help the small grin that peeked through. "Fancy yourself a Scotsman on the side, do you?"

He leaned forward and did that… _thing_ with his voice again. "Aye, ye should see me in a kilt…"

Her face was suddenly aflame, and Rose could not tame the vivid image now at the forefront of her mind.

"Might take you up on that sometime," she heard herself respond, even as her face flushed hotter.

He seemed momentarily surprised by her forward response. His eyes widened, then crinkled at the corners as a slow grin grew. "Just name the time and place, Rose Tyler."

There was a time Rose would have backpedalled at this point. She didn't.

"Deal," she agreed, eyes never leaving his.

For the first time in her life, Rose was _intentionally_ flirting with a man. And she loved it.

After dinner, they foraged the cupboards and found the stash of dark chocolate they'd purchased on a recent trip to the market. Gathering a few sweet squares to top off their meal, they settled on the couch in cozy proximity. As the rain continued to fall, they nibbled on the treats, talking over travel plans for the return to London.

"Do you plan to see your mum when you get back?" John asked.

Rose paused. Her mum. That was another area of her life that still needed some attention. "Should do, yeah. Let her know I came through in one piece and you didn't murder me in my sleep, or something."

John winced. "She still doesn't trust me."

"She doesn't trust men," Rose clarified. "It's gonna take her some time. The whole thing with Saxon didn't help matters."

John tensed at the mention of Saxon, but nodded his understanding. "How are things with the two of you? If you don't mind me asking."

Rose bit her thumbnail, an unconscious habit. Guiltily, she realized she hadn't spent as much time with her mum as she should have lately, with all of the court proceedings and counseling sessions and now this holiday away. In truth, the relationship with her mum had been strained for so long that the distance still felt natural.

"We're okay, I s'pose. We still don't talk as much as we probably should. Hopefully that'll get easier in time."

"It will," John encouraged.

Rose responded with a tentative smile.

"You going to finish that?" John asked a bit later, eyeing her partial chunk of chocolate with covetous eyes. He had already finished his portion. His sweet tooth was another trait Rose had become acquainted with.

She glanced down at the half a square in her hand, still partly wrapped in gold foil. Rose chuckled. "No, I'm full. Have at it."

He grinned, soft lips stretching over white teeth. Rose's eyes were drawn to his waiting mouth. Unconsciously, rather than handing him the chocolate, she found her fingers moving it directly to its destination. He watched her, eyes darkening to the deep color of the confection as her fingers neared his lips. She stopped when his breath hit her hand, the intimacy of the gesture catching up to her. He moistened his lips with his tongue and she was moving again, now heedless of hesitation.

His mouth parted, welcoming the sweet gift and her accompanying fingers. Her fingers sank past his lips and were enveloped in a warm, wet embrace as he received her offering.

Her own mouth went slack, eyes trained on his as she slowly withdrew, fingertips grazing his tongue, his teeth, his lips on the return journey.

A sudden rush of desire sparked through her nerve endings. Her brain caught up to her sensory system, delivering a strong, resonant message: she wanted to kiss him.

At that same moment, a booming thunderclap rattled the cottage. Rose startled simply out of surprise. And then…nothing. She was not gripped by fear or deluged by horrifying flashbacks. She didn't feel a sense of looming danger. She felt perfectly safe. Rose realized then that she had taken little more than passing notice of the rain all evening.

John swallowed, watching her carefully. "Are you…okay, Rose?" Given her track record, he was likely surprised she hadn't flown into a panic.

"Yeah," she was able to answer. "I am. I'm not scared. 'S weird…almost like I think I _should_ feel afraid. It was automatic before. But I don't feel it now."

"Fear never should have been the 'norm' for you, Rose. And it never has to be again. The past can't hurt you anymore."

"I know," she confirmed. "I feel safe right now. I'm not afraid of the storm. Or of…being here with you." The last was spoken as a quiet confession.

"I'm glad," he answered simply, but the emotion in his dark espresso eyes spoke of so much more.

Rose gazed at him, feeling a resurgence of that urge, that instinct to draw closer. Without conscious thought, she found herself leaning in.

He didn't move, just watched her, and it was clear he was letting her be the one to take the lead with this.

"John?" she whispered out, her voice tremulous in her own ears. "Can I…just…I…I want…"

"What, love?" he spoke back, voice low and tender. "What is it you want?"

She wasn't sure she could put it into actual words without tripping over her tongue, sounding foolish and immature. So she demonstrated instead.

Slowly, Rose eased in, their faces hovering inches apart, his breath a warm caress on her skin. Her eyes fluttered shut as her lips touched his, the soft contact a mere whisper. He breathed out unsteadily, a sigh and a tremor at once.

She pulled back, lips tingling. Her wide, uncertain eyes met his, John's own opening slowly.

"Rose," he began, infinitely gentle. "You…you don't have to."

Her eyes fell. "I'm rubbish at this. 'M sorry. I just–"

His breathless laugh surprised her. "Rubbish is _not_ the word I would use. You're… Blimey, Rose, you're enough to drive any man mad with want. But I don't want you to do anything you might not be comfortable with or ready for."

"That's what I was trying to say. Or…show," she admitted, eyes still down. "I do want this. I've never felt this before. Never really wanted it before. I was too scared, because deep down it was attached to such…horrible things. But with you it's…it's different."

Placing a hand beneath her chin, he lifted her gaze. "You have no idea how much I want this, too. But nothing is required and nothing has to be rushed. As much or as little as you want, Rose. It's up to you."

She felt completely out of her depth even talking about this. "I don't really know how much I'm ready for. But…I want…," she brushed her thumb over his full lower lip as her voice dropped to a whisper, "…more of this." She flushed heartily and pulled her hand away. "God, I sound like a…a trollop. Mum would give me a good slap, she would. 'M sorry. You must think–"

John caught her hand and pulled it back to his lips, kissing the pads of her fingers, making her briefly forget what she'd been on about. "Never, _never_ be ashamed of your feelings, Rose. They're a natural part of you. And trust me, if you knew the thoughts running through _my_ head right now – or every time I'm around you, for that matter – you would not be thinking of yourself as the scandalous one. _I'd_ be the one in danger of a slap from your mum."

Her flush intensified, but at the same time she felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry you've had to keep your feelings bottled up all the time. Most men wouldn't have held back this long. You've been so patient."

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, one long finger tracing the sensitive shell, making her shiver. "Some things are worth waiting for. And I'll go on waiting for you as long as you need. I don't just want sex with you, Rose. I want a life."

How in Heaven's name could she respond to that when he had just robbed her of the ability to speak?

John paused, eyes dark and glittering as his hand lingered on the side of her face. "But if you're open to more kissing…?"

Not trusting her voice, Rose nodded in assent.

Slowly, giving her time to retreat, he moved his lips toward hers. Recapturing her earlier boldness, she gave in to instinct and met him partway.

Their lips touched, pressed, caressed, then withdrew. Just as she was easing away, he pressed forward again, this time enclosing her lower lip between both of his, applying a soft, suctioning pressure that sent a tingle straight down her spine. His hands cupped her face, thumbs caressing the swell of her cheeks. She didn't even recognize her own voice as a moan sounded from deep in her throat. As her lips parted to allow the husky sound to escape, he ventured forth into new territory.

His tongue slipped past her lips, breaching the entrance to her warm, wet mouth as the sensations skyrocketed. He didn't force his way deeper. He simply allowed his tongue to glide like a feather across the tip of hers. His flavor burst on her tongue – chocolate and wine and _John_. Instinctually, she craved more. Her own tongue unfurled to meet him, shyly at first, flicking lightly rather than lapping hungrily as she craved. His tongue retreated back into his own mouth, slowly, enticingly, encouraging her to follow. She did, and she was met with an enthusiastic welcome, his tongue caressing, lips suckling, until she momentarily forgot all inhibitions.

His right hand fell to her shoulder, pulling her to him. She went willingly. One hand tangled in his thick hair while the other splayed across his chest, his rapid heartbeat hammering beneath her palm.

Her tongue twined with his, then ducked beneath, tracing the silky inner flesh of his lower lip. He gasped, pulling the air right out of her own lungs in the process. When she stroked the tip of her tongue across the roof of his mouth, his reaction surged. He plunged back into her own mouth, tasting and exploring and feasting. They sipped and suckled and devoured until her lungs burned from lack of oxygen.

Rose broke the kiss to gulp down air. Panting, his forehead pressed to hers as he, too, struggled to catch his breath. Her whole body trembled with flaming aftershocks. She'd had no idea, no comprehension that a kiss could feel like _that_. It made her want to press even closer, consume and be consumed, crawl inside him and never leave.

"S-sorry," John rasped out, feeling her tremble as she struggled for air. "Too much?"

"Y-yes. No! I mean…I…I've never felt anything like that before."

His forehead lifted, glazed eyes meeting hers. "Truthfully? Neither have I. Never that strongly."

Her whole body shuddered anew as his hand ghosted across her shoulder and down her arm. He found her hand, linking it with his.

"Oh, Rose. I want to show you _everything_ I feel…everything you do to me," he husked. Then added in a clearer voice, "In time."

Part of her wanted to cry out _yes_ , she wanted that, too. And not in time. _Here_ and _now_. But while her body came alive and her heart opened like a spring blossom to the sun, her mind was still hesitant. Self-doubts persisted. Was she ready? She was just learning to allow herself to kiss a man properly, for goodness sake. Could she give him her entire body, her entire soul, when just giving him her lips felt like a monumental act?

John drew a finger between her creased brows, the tender gesture bringing her back to the moment. "Rose, don't overthink it, okay? When you're ready for more you'll just…know. We both will. And I don't want that until you do."

"What if I never feel ready?" she questioned, confessing her fear.

He cracked a half smile. "I have confidence in my irresistibility." She couldn't help the breath of laughter in response to his audacious cheek. Sensing the tension ease a little, he grew serious and added, "I have confidence in _us_."

-:-:-:-

Despite their heated moments after dinner, John was a perfect gentleman the rest of the evening, not pushing for or demanding more, seeming content to simply cuddle close with Rose as the rain died down to a quiet patter and she grew sleepy. When they retired for bed, he escorted Rose to her door and gave her a sweet, lingering kiss.

She retreated into her room, feeling a little lightheaded. The evening had been…incredible. A dizzying leap into new, uncharted territory. But Rose knew she needed to take it a step at a time; keep her balance. This wasn't something to rush. It was too important.

As Rose dressed for bed that night, her mind propelled her into the future. How would her life progress from here? She was about to return to London. Then what? What role would she play in John's life? How irrevocable and absolute was she ready to make this?

And what about her mum?

John now had her thinking about that, too. Rose had been so preoccupied with her relationship with John that things with her mum had taken a backseat. How could she focus there _and_ continue progressing with John? How could she strike a balance?

There was a time she might have struggled with the answer to these questions, but not tonight. As Rose pondered these things, she felt clarity and a sense of sureness. She knew what needed to come next, and she was ready for it. With a surge of certainty, Rose left her room in search of John.

Bare feet padded soundlessly over wood planks as she followed the narrow hallway, nearing the door at the opposite end. A dim shaft of light glowed around the edges of the door, only partially closed. He was still awake.

Lifting a hand, Rose tapped her knuckles on the wood.

"Come in," John called out, sounding a little surprised.

Rose pushed open the door.

He'd been reclining in bed but sat up immediately, voice concerned. "Rose? What's wrong?"

She felt her eyes widen as she took in the sight of him in the dim light of the bedside lamp. His torso was bare – all lean, firm flesh and masculine chest hair. A low-slung sheet covered from the hips down, dark gray boxers peeking out over the edge. A book sat propped in his lap, glasses perched on the end of his nose, and tousled fringe casting slanted shadows over his brow.

Rose swallowed hard. "Nothing's wrong. I-I just wondered if we could talk."

"Of course. Do you want to head for the couch? Or maybe the kitchen? I could make us both a cuppa."

She hesitated, lower lip caught between her teeth. She tasted John there, intensifying the words that followed. "I thought…maybe…here?"

He regarded her a moment, then offered a nod of understanding. Putting the book and glasses aside, John scooted over to make room and turned back the covers in invitation. "Come here…"

Rose approached the bed, heart quickening. She slid the dressing gown from her shoulders, leaving her in vest top and shorts, and slipped into bed beside him. They turned on their sides to face each other.

"Hello," he softly murmured.

"Hi," she breathed out.

They exchanged smiles that were both slightly awkward and wholly smitten.

Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Rose began. "Ever since that first night we…umm…shared a bed, I've wanted to be this close to you again," she admitted in a hushed voice. "But I was afraid."

John reached out, stroking one finger down her cheek, voice gentle. "Afraid of me?"

"Sort of, I guess. But not afraid of you so much as…this. I didn't know how much I was ready for. I didn't know if I'd ever be ready for more. And that wasn't fair to you."

"Rose–"

"Lemme finish," she insisted. "I've finally worked out what I want to say, so I need to get this out."

He closed his mouth and nodded.

"I've spent so much time trying to make sense of my life, to figure out what to do and what I wanted. But now I think I know. Our time here, especially tonight, helped me figure that out." She drew a breath. This was the difficult bit. "I need to go home, John. To my mum." Pain flashed in his eyes, but he remained silent. "Not permanently," she clarified. "And not because I want to be away from you. But right now she needs me. I realized something tonight. All of this, every bit of it, has been about _me_. Facing the past has been about _me_ , our relationship has been about _me_ and how much _I_ was or wasn't ready for, this trip has been about _me_ , a chance for me to get away from all the stuff I'd faced. All I've thought about is myself in all of this."

"Rose, that's not true."

"It is, though. I've been so caught up in fixing myself that I haven't thought of others. Not like I should."

"That's understandable. You've had so much to try to deal with. Of course the process would be consuming."

"Maybe. But that's the thing… I _have_ been dealing with it. I'm better now. I'm better because others have helped to get me here. But what about my mum? Who's been there for her?"

John was silent as he pondered the question, likely arriving at the same conclusion as Rose.

"She hasn't had anyone. Not like I have. But she's been dealing with so much. More in some ways because she blamed herself for it all. And she's not gonna be okay until she knows that I am. And to know that she's gonna have to see it for herself. Plus, this…this ugly _thing_ in our past has always been there between us. Now that we're moving past it, she and I have the chance to be closer, but only if we put in the time to try. I need to be there for her, John."

He drew a deep breath, and released it with a smile that was both resigned and proud. "Of course you do. And you have my full support. Like I said, whatever you decided, I wouldn't try to stand in your way."

"I'm not finished," she said, mouth forming a soft smile. He had a tendency to see the value in others while completely overlooking it in himself. "This isn't a goodbye, John. It's not an ending for us." Her eyes dipped, then returned to his. "I hope it's just the beginning. Being here with you has been…amazing. And I don't just mean the sights and activities. I've loved just being with _you_ , spending time together, getting…closer to you. And I want more of that. I don't just want to be friends. I want…" She trailed off. "Don't really know how to say it without sounding sorta silly or childish. But I suppose what I'm trying to say is I want us to…date. Like a proper couple. 'Cause now I know that's what I want us to be." She cleared her throat. "And it'd give Mum a chance to spend more time with you, to get to know you, to see part of the reason why I'm happy."

His lips twitched, then broke into a full-on grin. "Are you saying you want me to _court_ you, Rose Tyler?"

She glanced off, feeling an embarrassed warmth flood her cheeks. "Sorry. If you think it's daft, then–"

"Daft? Why on earth would I think that?"

"'Cause you're practically laughing."

"Hey, look at me." She did, with reluctance. "I don't think it's funny, Rose. I'm _delighted_ by it. I want to arrive on your front terrace with flowers, be told by your mother to have you back at a respectable hour, take you for walks in the park, and–"

"This _is_ the twenty-first century," she said with a giggle, interrupting his enthusiastic ramble.

His mouth formed a rather adorable pout. "There's something to be said for old-fashioned traditions."

"And I don't think the estate even has what you could call a 'terrace.' More like a rusted overhang."

His grin was back in full force. "That'll do!"

"You're a nutter," she laughed.

His expression softened, hand reaching again to stroke her face. "Do you have any idea how happy you make me?"

Her hand reached for his, holding it to her cheek. "I think I'm starting to get it, yeah."

Holding his gaze, Rose brought his hand to her lips. Softly, she laid a kiss to his palm.

Her name was an exhaled breath as he brought their joined hands to his own lips and mirrored the gesture.

John lowered her hand, eyes still locked on hers. Before overthinking it, Rose shifted closer. Her eyes fell shut as their lips met. Her mouth brushed his once, twice, three times, then with a sigh she let go, her full body pressing to his. The heat of him suffused her, his bare chest against hers with nothing but her thin vest between them. He breathed out her name and opened to her. His hand tangled in her hair as the kiss deepened.

He rolled, body covering hers, then dove back in, tongue redoubling its efforts. His open palm slid down her thigh as her knee came up around his hip. They groaned in unison.

Abruptly, John pulled back, breath ragged as he moved off her, flopping to his back.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. What had she done wrong?

"Sorry. I got a bit…carried away," he said in apology.

Rose exhaled a breathless laugh of relief. "You weren't the only one."

He turned back toward her. "I want to take this at the proper pace, Rose. I don't want either of us to have any regrets. Not after everything we've come through. I want to get it right this time."

"I want that, too," she agreed, tucking an arm beneath her head. "But I also want…"

"What?" he prompted, taking the hand that rested between them, lacing his fingers through hers.

"Would it be too…umm…difficult for you with the whole proper pace thing if I stay in here tonight? To sleep?"

He shifted closer, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. He lowered his head to her ear, hot breath sending a tingle all the way down to her toes. "I'll gladly withstand the torture."

At his gentle urging, Rose turned in his arms, her back to his front, and drifted in his embrace.

She was just dozing off as John's low voice whispered against the back of her neck.

"Rose…?"

"Hmm?" she murmured, groggy; blissful.

"Does your room at your mum's have a window?"

"Mmm…yeah," she yawned. "Why?"

She felt him grin against her neck. "I'm a forward planning sort of man…"


	28. Chapter 27

**A/N** Nearly there now!

* * *

 **Chapter 27**

"A rose for a Rose! _Weeell_ …a dozen roses, to be exact. But you get the picture."

"Thanks," Rose chuckled, standing in the doorway of her flat as she took the bouquet of pink blooms from John's outstretched hand.

They had been officially dating for over a month now, and John had made it a practice to greet Rose with flowers each time he came to her door. She might have said it was a bit over-the-top, but John considered himself nothing if not thorough. Give him the go-ahead to court Rose Tyler and he would leave no ritual of romance neglected. He meant it when he'd said he wanted to get this right.

Smiling, Rose leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. She pulled back, cheeks flushed the color of her namesake. Despite their progressing intimacy, a single kiss could still make her blush. John never teased her about that. He adored the fact that it held such significance.

"I'm not the one we're celebrating tonight, though," Rose pointed out, then leaned around John to kiss Wilfred on the cheek. Today was Wilfred's birthday, with a celebratory dinner planned for the occasion.

"That's all right," said the older man with a wink. "You look prettier holding a bouquet than I do."

Rose's blush deepened.

"And there's always an occasion to give a beautiful woman flowers," John added, his eyes taking an admiring journey from head to toe. Rose was gorgeous tonight. Well, she was _always_ gorgeous to him. But the little black number she wore certainly amplified a few of the reasons why.

The three turned and stepped into the flat just as Jackie emerged from her bedroom, slipping into a pair of black heels.

"Speaking of beautiful women, these are for the lovely Mrs. Tyler," said John, producing another bouquet from behind his back.

Jackie took the flowers, gave them an appreciative whiff, then looked up at John. Her eyes narrowed but held a hint of a twinkle. "Still tryin' to suck up to me, I see."

"He learned his charms from the best," said Wilfred, taking Jackie's hand and placing a chivalrous kiss to her knuckles.

"So _you're_ to blame, eh?" She said this good-naturedly, unable to hide a smile. Wilf just had a way with people, and Jackie was no exception.

Rose slipped into the kitchen to put the flowers in water, then returned to John's side, casting an anxious glance at the clock. "Well, we best be off if we want to make the reservation."

"Allow me," Wilfred offered, extending his elbow to Jackie.

Jackie smiled and took his arm as they turned for the door.

John did the same, and Rose smiled up at him, leaning closer to whisper. "Thank you for asking Mum to come tonight, too. She might not admit it, but she's really excited. She hasn't been to a posh restaurant in…well…maybe never, come to think of it."

John placed his free hand over Rose's and gave a light squeeze. "Of course she would be invited. She's family."

Though the titles of Husband and Wife were not being applied to him and Rose as they navigated this new, closer relationship, John still thought of Rose and Jackie as his family. He hadn't fooled himself into thinking Jackie held the same opinion of him just yet, but she had at least come to accept him as a part of her daughter's life.

Rose had been right. The current arrangement had not only given Rose a chance to become closer to her mum, but provided the opportunity for Jackie to get to know John better as well. There was nothing hidden when it came to his feelings for Rose. He couldn't have concealed them if he tried. So if nothing else, he hoped Jackie at least saw his sincere devotion to her daughter. Rose was not just some fleeting fancy or pretty young fling for him. She was, he desperately hoped, his future.

Once downstairs, the small group got into the awaiting car and headed west for London's exclusive Mayfair district.

Dinner that evening was an extravagant champagne and caviar affair. Both Jackie and Rose seemed a little nervous in such posh surroundings, fumbling over which fork to use with which course. In truth, it wasn't the type of place John or Wilfred frequented either, but John had wanted to do something special for the occasion.

Neither mother nor daughter had anything to be concerned about, though. John thought he and Wilfred looked a shabby step down in comparison to the two ladies accompanying them. Both women wore black cocktail dresses, simple but elegant. Jackie had arranged her hair in a sophisticated twist, while Rose wore her silky golden tresses in long, flowing waves. The two possessed a natural beauty that, when side by side and formally attired as they were, drew the appreciative glance of just about every man in the room.

Over the course of dinner, the atmosphere gradually relaxed. It could have gone pear-shaped when John made an embarrassing blunder. He tipped over a glass of water about halfway through, splashing it on Jackie and leaving him feeling like a fumbling klutz in front of the woman he tried endlessly to make a good impression on. She had laughed it off, however, calling him "all elbows" and recalling how her late husband Pete had been the same way. There was a moment of heavy silence at the recollection of the past. But then Jackie had smiled fondly at him and said there were worse traits to have. The tension seemed to ease after that.

As they awaited dessert, Wilfred suggested they take advantage of the dance floor, where classical tunes emanated from the seven-piece orchestra.

"As tonight's birthday boy, I'd say it's only fair I get at least one dance a piece with each of you lovely ladies. How about you and I go first, eh?" He stood and offered his hand to Jackie.

She hesitated, looking self-conscious. Catching Rose's nod of encouragement, she gave in with a mock-sigh. "S'pose I can't say no. But if I muck up your birthday by smashin' your toes to smithereens, don't say I didn't warn ya."

Wilfred tutted. "Just never you worry. Follow my lead and we'll dance circles around those amateurs out there."

John and Rose looked on, smiling, as the two took to the dance floor.

John looked back to Rose. "Shall we?" he asked. "Can't let those two show us up, now can we?"

"S'pose I can't say no," Rose acquiesced, feigning her mother's same sigh. "But the same warning my mum gave applies to your toes, too."

He took her hand with a grin. "I'll take my chances."

John pulled Rose close as they swayed to a slow, rich beat. They moved together so easily; so naturally. He recalled the first time they had danced together, aboard the ship that was designated as their "honeymoon" cruise. Just holding her hand had felt like a triumph. He wouldn't have dared hold her as close as he did now. With that thought, John pulled her a little closer, leaning to nuzzle her cheek as their bodies swayed in unison. This wasn't the first dance they had shared since that first tentative experience, but he never took a single one for granted.

Since becoming a "proper couple," there had been dinners and dancing, long walks and late night cuddles. John had, in true Romeo fashion, ascended Rose's fire escape on more than one occasion to slip in her bedroom window. She would open the window with a laugh, reminding him that the front door was still operational. He would then make a show of swaggering in, pointing out the romantic superiority of windows versus doors, and they would inevitably dissolve into a fit of hushed giggles on the bed. And then the giggling would stop, humor eclipsed by an emotion far more intense. Those were the moments that put John's restraint to the test.

They had yet to cross the line of full intimacy, but difficult as restraint sometimes was, John was not complaining. He still wanted it, of course. He wanted _everything_ with this woman. His longing and desire intensified each moment he was with her. But what he and Rose already had was incredible, and becoming more passionate by the day. There were long, smoldering kisses, and touches that grew bolder. But it was more than that. It was the deepening of their emotional connection, too.

He and Rose had continued to grow closer, his heart overflowing with love for this woman who had overcome so much, completed her counseling sessions, and was brilliant and self-assured enough to do anything she wanted in life. And it seemed one of the things she wanted was a relationship with him. His mind still boggled at his fortune, which was so much more than he felt he could ever deserve. He often wondered if she was getting the short end of the stick by comparison.

"Are you happy?" he murmured against her cheek.

"Mmm," she hummed in contentment. "A posh restaurant, endless champagne, and a skilled dance partner. What more could a girl ask for?"

"Don't forget, a skilled dance partner with exceptional hair," he teased.

She looked up, a slow smile forming as her eyes lifted to his tousled fringe. "Mmm…I'll add that to the list." Her eyes took a brief sweep of his form, outfitted in a black suit with silver pinstripes, charcoal shirt, and black and silver patterned tie. Her eyes returned to his face as she let out a breathy little sigh. "Have I mentioned how…handsome you look tonight? You're very…"

He arched an eyebrow, gently coaxing her to go on. She could still be so shy with him at times. Some things were still a work in progress. "Very…?"

She ducked closer, face in his shoulder as she mumbled something.

"Rose Tyler," he husked. "Did you just call me _sexy_?"

She straightened up, face red but feigning nonchalance as she shrugged. "Maybe."

He grinned, taking his time for full effect. "That makes two of us, then. Because _you_ , my gorgeous Rose, are the absolute definition of the word."

She gave a self-conscious little chuckle. "I think you're a bit biased."

"I think I'm a bit honest. Did you not see how every man in the place turned to look as you walked by? You _and_ your mum, actually."

Rose wrinkled her nose. "Erm…I'd rather not think of others looking at my _mum_ like that, ta. Although…it would be nice if...well…some day she found someone again. Y'know?"

He pulled her close again. "I know. Give her time. Speaking of, how's she doing?"

"Better," Rose confirmed. "Good, actually. Now that I've finished my counseling and she's seen how it can help, I've talked to her about trying it, too. She's thinking about it. Either way, I think she's finally starting to forgive herself for the past. Or at least, she's able to look me in the eye now without feeling so much guilt. She even said so. And we talk a lot more…about everything. This time together has been good for both of us."

John nodded in agreement. "I'm very glad. You did the right thing, Rose. Even if…"

She eased back a little to see into his face. "Even if…?"

He shrugged. "Even if I've selfishly missed you."

Her expression softened. "You still see me practically everyday." Rose bit her lower lip, a blush rising to her cheeks. "And nearly every night."

"Mmm," he agreed, a low rumble sounding in his chest. "But sometimes nearly isn't nearly enough…"

She dipped her eyes as she made a quiet confession. "Sometimes it's…not enough for me, either." Her eyes lifted to his. "John, I…I…"

"Mind if I cut in?"

They looked to see Wilfred dancing toward them. John tamped down his disappointment over the interruption, hoping Rose would find the courage to broach this topic again.

"Hold that thought," he whispered in her ear. She looked at him, eyes intense, and nodded. He then smiled at Wilfred. "Only if I get a turn with your lovely partner," John brokered.

He released Rose and extended his hand to Jackie in gallant fashion. She took it, shaking her head fondly as the two pairs traded off.

"God, you're tall. My poor Rose must go around with a crick in her neck," Jackie quipped.

John chuckled, though he couldn't hide the nervous undertone. He still wasn't quite sure how he measured up in Jackie Tyler's eyes. "I can slouch, if it helps."

"That what you do for Rose, then?"

"Well, it's never been an issue. But I would if she asked me."

Jackie regarded him appraisingly. "Hmm…you probably would." A beat passed, and then she surprised him with her next remark. "You're good for her. I can see that now. Didn't think I'd say that about a man. I couldn't imagine any man being good enough for my Rose. But there we are."

"I love her," he breathed out.

She nodded. "Yeah, I think you probably do. I can't say Rose was ready to marry you when she did. Her needin' time to figure all this out was proof of that. But…I know why it came about that way. You wanted to protect her, and for that…well…I'm grateful. If Rose had kept on as she had, Lord knows what would've become of her. She was hurting. So much more than I'd realized. I didn't want to realize just how much, I s'pose. But you saw it. And you cared enough to try to do somethin' about it. Like I said, I'm grateful."

"I…don't really know what to say," John admitted. "And I don't find myself in that position often. But you should know, my actions toward Rose were not simply because I wanted to help her. There _was_ that, of course. But the main reason was because I was, and am, very much in love with her. I wouldn't have proposed marriage to just anyone."

Jackie looked at him in contemplation, head tilted. "Has Rose told you yet how _she_ feels?"

John glanced down. If his hands were not otherwise occupied he would have given his ear a nervous tug. Not only was this a rather personal topic, it was also one that stung a little. He knew Rose cared for him. It had been her idea to "date," and she made it clear she wanted him in her life. But up to this point she had not been as…free in voicing her exact feelings.

"Not…in certain terms," he admitted. "But I'm not putting any sort of expectations on her about that."

Jackie gave him a knowing little smile. "Give her time. She and I talk a lot these days, and let's just say you're a common topic."

John felt his ears flush. The revelation made him a bit self-conscious. It also gave him a wild surge of hope.

-:-:-:-

After dinner, Rose spent the drive back to the flat lost in contemplation. She contributed token responses here and there as the others chatted, but her mind was too preoccupied to focus on outside conversation. The only conversation she could focus on was the one that had been cut short with John.

She had been so close. So close to telling him the things that she could no longer keep inside. The things she no longer _wanted_ to keep inside. Rose unconsciously fingered the gold chain she wore around her neck as she pondered the words she was finally ready to say. The words that would change everything.

"You all right?" John's quiet voice questioned, drawing her out of her thoughts.

In the back seat she could hear her mum and Wilf chatting about the growth and changes to the city over the years. She smiled at John and nodded. Now wasn't the time.

"Yeah, fine. Just thinking."

He flicked his eyes from the road over to her. "Good thoughts, I hope."

She glanced down, her fingers still twined around the chain of her necklace. "The best I've ever had."

Upon returning to the flat, it was time for Rose and John to reveal their birthday present for Wilfred, a project they had collaborated on for the past few weeks, much to Jackie's exasperated complaints of strewn components throughout the flat. John insisted they work on it here rather than his place to ensure it remained a surprise. He claimed Wilfred was worse than a kid at Christmas when it came to sussing out presents. Rose suspected it was an excuse for spending even more time here. She wasn't complaining.

They led him out to the balcony were the gift was waiting. Rose removed her hands from Wilfred's eyes as John whipped off the object's cover with a flourish, revealing a sleek new telescope.

"Blimey!" Wilf exclaimed. "She's gorgeous! Oh, she's _gorgeous_! Just look at that objective lens. I'll bet the focal ratio is stunning!"

"Oh, it is!" John agreed, nodding enthusiastically. "Not a smidge of chromatic aberration."

"And hardly any obstruction from the secondary mirrors," Rose added proudly.

"You three," Jackie chuckled. "All that babblin' and excitement over a telescope."

"Oh, but it's what a telescope can _do_ , Jackie!" John enthused. "They bring the universe to life right before your eyes."

"Take a look, Mum," Rose encouraged.

Wilfred had just brought Jupiter into focus and eagerly motioned her over. "There now. Tell me that's not a marvel…"

With a look of skepticism, Jackie leaned down to peer through the eyepiece.

"Oh…," she softly exclaimed, taking in the view of the gas giant with its dusky cloud belts. All three wore matching, self-satisfied grins once she turned back. "All right. It's worth a look, I'll give it that."

Everyone had a turn then. Even with less than optimal viewing conditions in the city, there were still wonders to behold.

"Well, if you stargazers are gonna stay out here all hours, I better at least make a fresh pot of tea." Jackie eventually said.

"Oh, these old bones could do with that. They're a whole year older now," Wilfred replied.

"C'mon, then. I'll have it ready in a jiff."

Wilfred extended his arm to her. "Lead the way, dear Madame."

Rose watched them go, chuckling. "He's got her thoroughly charmed."

"Like he said, I learned my skills from the best," John quipped.

"You do seem to be growing on her," Rose noted. She had noticed how much more at ease the two seemed together, tonight especially. "S'pose you really _are_ skilled." He waggled his eyebrows. She giggled, then grew serious. "Your skills have worked on more than one Tyler woman," she softly admitted.

His expression sobered. "I don't know that I can claim any actual skill when it comes to you. All I've done is fall arse-over-elbows in love. I haven't stopped stumbling yet, and I don't know that I'll ever stop fumbling my way through this. But the fact that you've given me a chance means…well…everything."

Rose looked into his large brown eyes, so full of devotion and sincerity, and she felt her heart fill to near bursting with love for this man. Moving forward had once been the hard part. Now it was holding back that was becoming exceedingly difficult. Rose knew the things she wanted and needed to say, and she was ready. She no longer had any doubts about this. About them. It was time.

Rose moved closer, eyes on his. "That goes both ways, you know? All of it. I…I feel the same way, John. I have for a while now. But I wasn't sure I was ready to say it." She paused and drew a breath. "I am now. I'm so sure of how I feel that it's hard to remember a time when I wasn't. The feelings I have for you are stronger than I thought it was possible for one person to feel for another. I once wasn't even sure this sort of thing was real, to be honest. Like…like the stuff of storybooks, or something. But we haven't been a storybook. It's been hard. Sometimes it's hurt. And we've both messed up along the way. Yet here we are. And that's why I know this is real, and that this – you and me – is _right_."

"Rose…," he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

"Shhh," she breathed. There was more that needed saying. Three words in particular that had waited long enough. Rose pressed forward, placed a hand over his heart, and touched her lips to his. "I love you," she whispered out. "So much. More than I can put into words. So much that for the longest time it scared me. I think a part of me loved you from the moment we met. It just took my head a while to catch up to my heart."

"Oh, Rose," he murmured, arms encircling to pull her closer. "I–"

She held a hand up between them. "Wait. 'M not finished." She took another deep, galvanizing breath. She was sure of this. She hoped he would be, too. "I have something I've gotta ask you…"

"Anything," he replied, gazing at her in wonder.

Rose eased back a little. He watched her, entranced.

"And your answer can't be about feeling a sense of obligation or protectiveness or…or any of that old rubbish. It can only be about you loving me and me loving you, and both of us being sure of that."

He nodded, eyes intense.

Rose held his gaze as she reached behind her neck and unfastened the clasp of the thin chain she had worn ever since they had returned from Scotland. "I have something that belongs to you. You once said it was up to me to decide what should become of it. I've decided…"

Rose lifted the long gold chain from beneath the neckline of her dress, revealing the dangling ring that she had kept resting near her heart. She heard John's quick intake of air as she slid the ring off the chain and into her palm.

"John Smith," Rose began, heart galloping like a horse out of the gates. "Will you be my husband?"

His mouth hung slack, eyes wide and darting between her face and the outstretched ring. "I…I…"

"I can get down on one knee, if it helps," she added with a breathless chuckle.

His eyes settled on hers as a look of pure joy overtook his face. "Rose Tyler, I thought you'd never ask."

"Is that a yes?"

" _Yes!_ "

"Good!"

"Molto bene!"

"I love you."

"I love y-"

That was all he was able to get out before her mouth engulfed his.

There were times with John, so intense and consuming, that Rose felt almost as if time itself slowed to suspend them in the moment. This was one of those moments.

"And here I thought a cup of hot tea was the way to warm up. I see there are better methods," came the voice of Wilfred from behind them.

Their lips broke apart, heads turning to see him and Jackie stepping back out onto the balcony. Rose felt a surge of warmth flood her cheeks, but she could not subdue the radiant smile on her face.

"I…I s'pose this is where we say we have an announcement," Rose began, John still holding her tight and grinning like a loon.

Jackie's eyebrows rose, before her expression softened to a smile of relief. "And this is where I say it's about time, you two plums."

-:-:-:-

John had asked if Rose wanted another wedding, but she didn't. What she wanted was a renewing of vows. Though she had been too afraid, too uncertain and too emotionally muddled to call John her husband the first time she had pledged herself to him, the fact remained that she _had_ pledged herself to him. Deep in her heart, she had known all along that he was hers. There had certainly been no reservation on his part. She now wanted to reaffirm what had always been true. The two of them were meant to be – completely, irrevocably, forever.

Rose also wanted a chance for her mum to be a part of this. Jackie had seen her daughter's pain for far too long. Rose wanted her mum to now see her joy.

The simple, intimate ceremony was held in south Scotland, overlooking the water gardens on the grounds of Gretna Hotel. Wilfred and Jackie accompanied the two, standing witness to John and Rose's abiding pledge.

The September air was crisp, the lush foliage at the crest of its splendor, and the evening scape illuminated by shimmering fairy lights adorning the rustic arbor and encircling trees, beneath which John Smith and Rose Tyler professed their eternal love.

No doubts, no hesitations, no extenuating factors. Professing her love to John came as naturally to Rose as breathing, and she could only wonder as to how she had ever had a moment's doubt.

Rose had now made known to John, both in word and in symbolism, how much she loved him. All that remained was to show him. The reaffirmed newlyweds departed Gretna Green and headed east for Haddington, to the place that had seen their love, fragile and new, begin to take flight. The place that would now see their love soar.


	29. Chapter 28

**A/N** Please note this is the edited Teen version of chapters 28 & 29 combined. For those of age, the uncut Adult version can be found on _A Teaspoon and an Open Mind_ (Whofic) posted under the penname WhoMe.

Stay tuned for the epilogue! Their story is not quite over yet. ;)

* * *

 **Chapter 28**

From Gretna Green, John and Rose made the eastward drive to Haddington. The destination was familiar, but the purpose was entirely new. This was to be their honeymoon. A proper honeymoon.

The failed attempt aboard a cruise ship several months back now seemed like another lifetime. Rose had been so frightened and muddled, overrun by old fears she didn't understand and new, fragile feelings she was too scared to acknowledge. Now it was different. Now she had faced down her demons and opened her heart. She was ready to embrace the life she wanted and the man she wanted to spend it with. She was ready to love and be loved in return.

That didn't mean she wasn't still nervous about this next step. Quite the opposite. She was not afraid of John or the fundamentals of their love, but she was the definition of a blushing virgin. She had no practical experience with this sort of thing, at least not in a positive sense, and she feared instinct could only take her so far. Worse yet, she worried that old fears might resurface at the worst possible moment. What if she panicked on him? Talk about a mood killer. Rose wanted to take this pivotal step with John. Fervently. She wanted to be able to make love to her husband. But want and capability were two different things, and it was difficult to keep self-doubts at bay now that she had actually reached this point.

"Welcome back home."

John's voice pulled Rose from her thoughts as they drove up the rural path to the little cottage. It was late, the drive east taking nearly two hours, and only the car's headlights could distinguish their destination.

"Home," she repeated, testing the word. "Yeah."

Rose had spent her adult life running. Now she felt grounded. She _did_ feel at home here. Here, the estate, and even John's stately manor. Because no matter the place, Rose had people who loved, supported and accepted her. She finally belonged.

John parked the car. They looked at each other in the dim interior light, exchanging brief, anxious smiles. John hopped out of the car and came around to her side, opening the door.

"Always the gentleman," she remarked, trying to keep the nervousness from her voice.

He extended his hand and winked. "Wouldn't do to slack off now. I want to get this marriage off on the right foot." Placing her hand in his, Rose stood. "Shall we, Mrs. Smith?" John asked, voice soft.

She looked up at him, heart quickening. "Yeah…"

Before she could take a step, he swept her up in his arms and carried her toward the porch.

Rose squealed in surprise, then laughed. "Aren't you supposed to wait until we get to the door?"

He flashed her a grin. "I like to be thorough. Besides, we can't have you tripping in the dark and twisting your ankle, now can we?"

"So instead you'll do the tripping and land on top of me?" she quipped.

They reached the door and he paused, one eyebrow lifting as he regarded her. "Well…I can think of worse places to land."

Any retort she might have made died in her throat.

John opened the weathered blue door and carried her through. Once inside, he placed her on her feet, arms still twined around her waist, hers draped over his shoulders. Their smiles faded, expressions intensifying.

"Thank you," John murmured.

Rose licked her lips, unconsciously staring at his, so close. "For what?"

"For everything. For being here, for loving me, for becoming my wife."

Wife.

The word had not lost its solemn weight in her heart, but now it also lifted it. "I could say the same to you. It's all still a bit…hard to believe. This is real, isn't it? We actually made it to this point?"

He lifted a hand to her face, tracing the line of her jaw with a single finger. "Oh, we most certainly did."

She turned her cheek, nuzzling her face into his warm palm. "Finally."

His darkened eyes flicked to her lips, head lowering. The kiss was a slow, sensual promise of more. When he pulled back, Rose felt like her heart might pound its way out of her chest. This was it, then. Did they just…get on with it? Or should they…work up to it?

John, too, seemed to hesitate with indecision. His hand raked through his hair, scruffing it in that nervous way of his.

"Would you…like something to eat? Or drink? Or…"

She glanced over his shoulder toward the small kitchen. There were too many butterflies currently occupying her stomach to leave room for anything else.

"No…umm…not just now. 'M not hungry."

He nodded. "Right. Okay. Why don't you just settle in then, and I'll go get our things?"

"Yeah, okay."

He kissed her forehead, then slipped back out the door.

Rose drew a long breath, releasing it as her eyes tracked up the wooden staircase. Following the path of her gaze, Rose headed up, switching on a few lights as she went.

She reached the top of the stairs and paused in the narrow hall. Which room would be theirs? They had been in separate bedrooms before, with the exception of that last night. The room Rose had occupied was just a bit larger, though, and would give them more space. More to the point, it had a bigger bed. Her temperature rose as she turned to the left, heading for the larger room.

She walked in and flicked on the lamp, glancing around at the familiar oak furnishings and large four-poster with its cozy quilt. She heard the sound of John's footsteps approaching. Rose turned as he entered the room, two large suitcases in each hand and one smaller bag tucked beneath his right arm.

"Here, I should've helped you with that," she said, pulling the smaller one from beneath his arm.

"No trouble. Just two more and that'll do it."

He placed the two bags down, but Rose kept a hold of the smaller one. It was one of hers, containing her nightclothes and various toiletries – the things she was in need of if she was going to freshen up a bit.

Rose glanced at the bag and up at John. "I'm just gonna…y'know…freshen up a little."

He nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "Take your time." As she turned to head for the bathroom, he added, "But not _too_ long…"

Rose slipped into the en-suite and closed the door. She sat the bag down beside the sink, then placed both hands on the rim of the porcelain basin, exhaling. She wasn't sure what to do next. She had showered and shaved her legs that morning, so that was a necessary step done. She had already started on the pill, so that was another important consideration covered. Rose settled for splashing a little water on the back of her neck and brushing her hair and teeth.

She was left to consider clothing. Should she change into something else? She was wearing the simple cream sheath dress she had worn for the ceremony, but should she, as they say, slip into something more "comfortable?"

Rose opened her bag and rifled through. She wasn't quite confident enough to pull off sexy lingerie and wouldn't have felt like herself trying. She did want to wear something suitably attractive though, so she had packed a few nice things. Rose selected a silky, pale pink camisole and short set with matching robe that hit mid-thigh. It didn't scream seductive, but it was certainly more alluring than her typical flannel bottoms and vest top.

Rose gave herself one last look in the mirror. This was it. She could do this. She reminded herself that the man waiting in the other room was _John_ – the man she loved with her whole heart and trusted just the same. With a bracing breath, Rose stepped out of the en-suite.

"That's all the bags," John said, hearing her re-enter the room. His back was to her as he stacked the suitcases by the bureau.

He straightened and turned. Their eyes met, and she held her breath in anticipation.

"Oh," he whispered, sounding surprised, eyes widening to take her in.

Rose glanced down, cheeks flushed as she fiddled with the sash of her short robe.

John crossed the room to her. "Rose?" She looked up. He reached for her hand, tugging gently. "Come here…"

She followed him to the bed. He sat, guiding her down beside him.

"Rose," he began, angling toward her. "Nothing has to happen tonight." Unexpectedly, she felt her racing heart slow, then sink. "It's late, and it's been quite a day. There are no rules here. No predetermined dictates to follow. If all we did was fall asleep in each other's arms, I honestly don't think I could be happier."

"Then…you don't want…?"

"I _do_ , Rose. And I know we will in due time. But I don't want you to feel any sort of pressure, okay?"

Rose wasn't sure what to say. She was sitting here, in what was to her the most alluring nightclothes she had ever donned, having prepared herself to be with John in every sense, and he was…well, he was ruining it. He didn't mean to, she knew. He was trying to think of her. But attempting to put the brakes on this wasn't what Rose had expected, nor was it what she wanted.

"John, I…I…" Rose huffed out a frustrated breath, irritated with herself that she still fumbled to put her feelings into words.

"I know, love," he shushed her, leaning in to brush a kiss to her forehead. "It's late, and I know you must be knackered. I'm just going to go change, and then we can both get some rest."

He stood, opened one of the suitcases and drew out a small bundle of clothes, then slipped out of the room, casting her a tender smile.

Rose flopped back on the bed, heaving a sigh. "For heaven's sake, Rose!" she chided herself under her breath. "Y'know what you want. Just _tell_ him."

"You look exhausted," John said with a soft chuckle upon returning to the room a few minutes later. She was still lying on her back, lengthwise across the bed. Rose sat up and brushed the hair back from her face.

John went to the bureau to put away his jacket and trousers. He had changed into a pair of dark blue pajama bottoms and white t-shirt. The t-shirt was snug, and she could see his lean stomach flex, abdominal muscles taut as he stretched forward to hang up his jacket.

Eyes fixed on him, Rose stood, untying the sash of her robe. He turned back to her just as she was shrugging out of it. "I'm not tired."

His eyes took a slow journey all the way down to her bare toes, then suddenly snapped back up to her face. "You're…not?"

She shook her head. "No."

He swallowed visibly. She realized something then. She wasn't the only one nervous.

Rose moved closer and reached for his hand. "John?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"Oh, Rose…" He lifted a hand, the backs of his fingers ghosting down her cheek. "I love you, too. _So_ much."

She bit her lip, glanced down, then looked back into his eyes. "Then…will you show me?"

"Rose, I… Are you sure?"

He seemed so apprehensive, as if _he_ was looking for a way out. "Are you?"

He took a step back, dragging a hand through his hair. "Honestly? I'm bloody terrified," he admitted on a rush.

"What?" she said, gaping. Wasn't that supposed to be her line?

"I've wanted this for so long, but I'm also afraid, Rose. Afraid of hurting you or overwhelming you or disappointing you. I want this to be perfect. But I'm not perfect and far from being an expert at this sort of thing, so I'm afraid perfection isn't something I can give you."

Surprisingly, his lack of confidence helped boost her own. She wasn't the only one second-guessing herself. They were in this together in every sense.

Drawing a breath, Rose took a step closer. "I'm afraid, too. You might not feel like an expert, but you do have experience. I don't. That gives you…well…basic expectations that I don't know if I can live up to. I'm also afraid of old fears rushing back at the worst moment and ruining everything. But I'm willing to chance all that 'cause I _love_ you. And I just… _want_ you. I used to think that sort of thing was…I dunno…shallow or…or degrading. But I know now it's not. It's…it's something I don't think there are words for. When I'm with you, I start to crave it. It's almost like…hunger. When you hold me, I can feel your heartbeat against my chest, and it makes me want to feel it so much _closer_. When you kiss me, it's like I can't get enough of your taste, and–"

John's lips swallowed her remaining words. Apparently she'd made her point.

"I'm more than willing to try if you are," he murmured against her lips.

Rose nodded, threaded her fingers through his thick, unruly hair and brought her mouth back to his.

Hands on her waist and mouth fused to hers, he backed her up until her legs hit the bed. She sat and he followed, lithe body stretching to cover hers as they moved as one up the bed.

She broke from his kiss to breathe.

He looked down at her, panting, then rolled off. "Sorry. I-I should take this slower."

She shook her head. "No, s'okay. Just had to catch my breath."

"This doesn't…frighten you, does it? In a bad way?" he asked, voice cautious, eyes gentle.

Briefly, her mind flashed back on the hazy memory of the man, years back, who had tried to force himself on her. That man was _not_ John.

She reached out and touched his cheek. "No. All I see right now, all I can think of right now, is _you_. Just you."

John rolled toward her again, slowly this time, and her heart quickened. There was no fear. No jolt of panic. Just a surge of nervous excitement.

"You set the pace, Rose. Okay?" he whispered.

"Just…kiss me again," she breathed. "W-we'll take it from there, yeah?"

"Oh, yes," he husked, fingers sliding to the base of her head as their lips met.

There was something different about the way John kissed her this time. He was passionate and tender, but there was a sense of…determination. This kiss was leading somewhere. As he kissed her, his fingers began to caress her, first her face, then down her throat, and over to her shoulder where he cupped and squeezed. His lips soon followed, grazing her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat. They had gotten…carried away a few times now, but had always stopped when things reached this point. There would be no stopping this time. The reality of that would have taken her breath away if John were not already doing a thorough job of that.

"Tell me what you like and what you don't," he entreated, lips brushing hers. "If anything doesn't feel good, or if at any time you want me to stop, just say the word and I will."

"I'm not afraid of this, John. I want this with you," she assured him, trying to steady her voice. "I want my husband to make love to me."

With a low groan, his mouth fastened to her skin, learning and relishing and adoring each inch as Rose revealed herself to him in every sense.

Rose held nothing back. She surrendered herself to the man she loved, and he yielded himself to her in equal measure. Touches came in tandem, his hands and her hands, his mouth and her mouth, both exploring and learning and relishing. Every step of the way he sought after her comfort and fulfillment, teaching her the depths of love, the heights of passion, and the all-consuming magnitude of pleasure.

The intimacy of it overcame her. There were no words for this. They were truly one.

-:-:-:-

Rose lay panting into John's sweat-soaked skin, arms coming up to enfold him.

"I love you, John," she whispered. "I…I love you so much."

He trembled against her and fought to find enough breath to speak. "Oh, Rose. _Rose_. I…I can't even think of adequate words."

"Don't have to," she rasped, throat dry from breathing so heavily. "I think we just said it all."

He hummed into her shoulder, low and gravelly. "Didn't we just?"

She felt…elated, and somehow found the strength to grin. "Yeah."

He smiled so, so tenderly, brushing damp tendrils of hair from her face.

"Okay?" he questioned.

"More than."

A pleased hum vibrated in his throat. "Just wait until next time…"

Next time. The thought of doing all of this over again was a little overwhelming. And wildly thrilling.

John tucked her against his side, pulled the sheet over them and snuggled close. She winced and drew back.

He looked down at her with droopy, questioning eyes. "Rose?"

She glanced away. "Don't want to…make you all sticky."

His laugh was a low, wicked thing. "I think _I'm_ responsible for making _you_ all sticky."

"John!" she gasped reprovingly, but couldn't help but grin as she ducked her flushed face into his chest.

He pulled her close again, bodies twining in messy, delicious perfection.

"Sleep, my Rose." She was already falling into exhausted, satisfied slumber as his whispered promise fell upon her ear and fueled her dreams. "And then I'll personally see to cleansing every delectably-sticky inch of you when we wake..."

-:-:-:-

Shafts of morning light shone through the bedroom windowpanes, rousing John from sleep. He squeezed his closed lids tighter and turned his head from dawn's sunny greeting. He didn't want to wake and let go of his glorious dreams. Dreams of Rose – his wife _and_ his lover. Her touch, her taste, her scent…it had all been so real. John breathed deeply, chasing the intoxicating fragrance that had perfumed his dreams. It crested over him then, permeating his nostrils and filling his lungs.

Rose. Rose was _here_. In his arms. In his bed. It wasn't just a dream.

He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, clearing sleep's haze to take in the sight that far exceeded any dream or fantasy his mind could have conjured.

Rose lay nestled on his chest, his arms enfolding her, their legs entwined. Golden hair spilled across his chest, her soft cheek warming his bare skin. Her lips were slightly parted, pinker and fuller from his thorough attentions. Thick lashes formed dark crescents against the backdrop of her smooth, milky cheeks. The bare skin of her back felt like warm silk beneath his encircling hands. He succumbed to the urge to glide his fingertips along her spine, relishing the feel of her soft flesh. He could scarcely believe that this was _real_. She was here. She was his.

Last night had been…incredible. Rose had given of herself and her love completely, and she had accepted him just the same. For all her prior hesitancy and fears, she had proven a passionate and magnificent lover. No one had _ever_ made him feel the way she had. It went beyond physical pleasure. He literally felt as if his soul were lighter, as if he was now complete, a missing place inside his heart and mind filled. He only hoped he had given her at least a fraction of the same.

She had been so willing, so brave, so determined to complete their joining as husband and wife. The fact that he had been her first, that she had given this to him as well, was an honor he could not even put in to words. He hoped she would want this with him again and again and again, and he could make good on his promise of giving her only pleasure from here forward. John knew he would never get enough of her. He sighed, then grinned to himself. There was nothing for it. Rose Tyler-Smith had turned him into a randy pubescent.

Drawing a deep, contented breath, John stretched his legs, reveling in the glide of her smooth thighs along his. There was still some combined stickiness from the night before. He felt a flash of primitive pride at the evidence. He didn't want Rose uncomfortable in any way, though. Especially considering it was her first time making love. She had shown a little embarrassment about it before going to sleep, and he had promised to personally see to it for her in the morning. His temperature spiked at the thought. Well, never let it be said he wasn't a man of his word.

Careful not to disturb her, John eased his sleeping wife from his arms, brushed a kiss to her temple and slid out of bed. He padded to the en-suite and quickly tended to himself. Once fresh and in a clean pair of boxers, he returned to the bedroom with a warm wet flannel.

Rose was still sleeping soundly. A smile flickered across his lips. She had a good reason to be tired. Gently, he sat back down beside her on the bed. He reached for the sheet that covered her bare body, but then he paused. Should he do this while she was still asleep? He wouldn't want her to think he was taking advantage. Yet she had already given herself to him, as he had her. There was nothing left to hide from each other, in any sense. And he could think of no better way for her to wake than to find him caring for her, loving her, adoring her. With that thought, he took down the sheet.

His breath lodged in his throat. She was _gorgeous_. Rose had been luminous by moonlight and now radiant in the light of day. His eyes swept over her creamy skin, soft and supple.

Blimey. He'd better focus on getting this done before _he_ was the one needing to be cleaned up. Again.

Soft as a whisper, he brought the warm flannel to her. Her brows creased, then relaxed, unconsciously accepting his touch as she released a soft sigh. Encouraged in his efforts, he continued.

"Mmmm, John," she moaned quietly in her sleep, fingers curling into the pillow beside her head.

He nearly lost it then and there, and he had no trouble imagining the dreams playing out behind her lids. It took all his effort to stay on task and not wake her immediately to make those dreams a reality.

John repeated the motions, cleansing and caressing. She stirred and sucked in a breath just as he moved inward. Her breath stuttered and eyes flew open.

"J-John?"

Registering her position, she automatically reached for the sheet and drew it up. They were going to have to practice overcoming her shyness, he realized. Lots and lots of practice…

"Good morning to you, my wife," he greeted in a lazy, contented drawl, wearing what was likely the most adoring smile ever to cross a man's face. "I _did_ promise to tidy you up when I woke." With that, his determined fingers crept back to the edge of the sheet.

She squeaked and pulled it a bit higher. "Umm, a-a shower later will do nicely, ta."

He cocked his head, his expression both amused and quizzical as he put aside the cloth. "It's a bit late to be shy _now_ ," he reasoned. "And I was rather under the impression that you were enjoying that."

A blush befitting her name tinted her cheeks. "'M still getting used to all…this," she mumbled.

John realized this was her first time experiencing that notorious Morning After. It was one thing to give herself over to desire and exposure in the passion of night. It was another, he supposed, to lay exposed in the stark light of day, as he cleansed her from the evidence of their lovemaking, no less. Maybe he _had_ been too forward. Worry settled in his gut. Was her reaction simply shyness, or–

"You don't…regret what happened last night do you, Rose? Was it too much? Too soon?"

She reached out to cup his stubbled cheek, thumb stroking down his sideburn. "'Course not, you daft man. Last night was… Oh, John, I can't even put it into words. But amazing comes to mind."

"Yeah?"

A tiny smile tugged at her lips, a brief peep of her tongue appearing at the corner. "Yeah."

He _had_ to kiss that grin, so he did.

But she pulled back, seeming hesitant. "Erm…I meant it about the shower. I'm sorta manky." Her voice grew a little bolder. "But we could always…share."

A shiver of desire rippled down his spine at the thought. He had another thought, though. One that was equally enticing and didn't require leaving this bed.

"Oh, Mrs. Smith, you _are_ a seductress. And I fully intend to take you up on that offer. Later. But right now this bed is so warm and inviting, to say nothing of _your_ inviting warmth."

"But–" she protested, albeit weakly as his persuasive lips moved to her throat.

"I assure you you're as fresh as a, well, rose." He brought his lips to her ear and whispered. "I tended to you quite thoroughly just before you woke."

She stiffened, causing him to question how she felt about this. He pulled back, tugging at his ear. "Was that okay? I realize it was taking liberties, but I didn't think you'd…that is to say…since we've already…well…"

If he wasn't mistaken, there was a twinkle of amusement in her eye. "You're sort of adorable when you stammer, y'know that? And that poor ear of yours. It's gonna end up longer than the other," she tutted, reaching up to tap a finger to his abused lobe. He dropped his hand and relaxed a little. "And yeah, I did feel sort of embarrassed by it. But I guess I also felt sort of…adored to have you care for me like that. I mean it's…umm…probably not something most blokes would even think to do."

Anxiety left him, replaced by growing desire. "I'll do it every morning, if you'd like."

She released a breathy laugh. "I think I'd rather be awake next time to…" She trailed off, biting her lip.

He lifted a brow. "To…?"

"Properly enjoy it," Rose admitted. Though she was blushing, she was also smiling.

"Oh, that can _definitely_ be arranged."

Her darkening eyes latched on to his just before her lips did the same. The kiss left them both wanting more. More was exactly what each gave and received.

-:-:-:-

Rose lay in John's arms for a long, contented while, his fingertips stroking the dewy skin of her back, her foot languidly grazing up and down his leg.

"Will it always be like this?" Rose eventually mumbled into his chest. "So…I dunno…overpowering? Like I can't even think straight after?"

He chuckled, low and gravelly, jiggling her atop his chest. "Complaining?"

She lifted her head, eyes twinkling. "I s'pose I'll just have to live with it."

He schooled his features. "A true martyr for the cause."

She giggled, then grew serious. "I can't believe I ever held myself back from this…from you."

He cocked a lazy eyebrow, gazing up at her adoringly. "But worth the wait?"

She grinned and kissed his chest. "What'd you think?"

The hum in his throat and utterly satisfied smile was all the reply needed.

She laid her head to his chest again, stroking a slow, circling finger over his heart. "Those words you spoke, just as you were…well…you know. What language was that? What did you say? It was beautiful."

His forehead creased, unsure what she meant. Then he hazily remembered babbling out something incoherent the moment he reached the pinnacle of his pleasure.

"I don't know," he confessed, then grinned. "I suppose it was just a language all my own. Apparently you make me feel things I can't even put into English."

She smirked. "Probably 'cause it's too dirty to put into English."

He snorted, then grew serious, his arms tightening around her. "Or too sacred."


	30. Epilogue

**A/N** And so we reach the end! For now… My original plan for this story was to leave the door open for a sequel should I ever want to revisit it, and in the meantime end at a place where John and Rose's future was full of possibilities. The more I imagined their future, however, the more I realized I was already itching to explore it. I can't promise how soon (a few months, at least), but there will be a sequel coming.

For those who supported this story, I truly cannot say thank you enough. ***** hugs *****

* * *

 **Epilogue**

Life, Rose Tyler had learned, was brimming with so many twists and turns and surprises that at times it was almost like living a mad adventure. Maybe all of it, every single challenging and impossible experience that had taken place in her life until now, had helped prepare her for what was to come. If someone had told her just six months before of the drastic changes that were to take place in her life, she would have laughed in their face. Little did she know, everything she had experienced up to this point was just the beginning.

It was a clear autumn night, the October air a crisp caress across her rosy cheeks as she sat atop the grassy hill behind Gallifrey Manor, sharing a blanket and a telescope with her now father-in-law, Wilfred. John was currently tinkering in his workshop, and Wilf had offered to share a thermos of tea in exchange for Rose's company.

He had told her it was time they got to know each other better. He had told her it was time she came to know a lot of things. Rose's curiosity was piqued as she settled beside him on the blanket and gazed up at the starry sky.

"I don't think you realize just how happy you make him," the old man began.

Rose smiled, hugging her knees to her chest to ward off the chill. "The same can be said for me."

"You love him very much, don't you, sweetheart?"

There was no pause in her response. Rose loved John so much it made her heart swell and chest ache. "More than I can say. I don't think I could put it into proper words if I tried, soppy as that sounds."

Wilf reached over and patted her hand. "You don't need words. I can tell. I'll admit, there was a time early on when I wondered if things would work out for you two."

"We had…a lot to get past," she agreed.

"But you did get past it. That's what matters. I think you two could take on just about anything now, which is why I thought it was time for our chat. Do you remember the talk we had the first time you agreed to marry John? I told you that a life with him would bring some unexpected things, but that a man like him was still worth it. That's important for you to remember, because there are some things I think it's time for you to know. Things it's time for _him_ to know. But…we'll get to that."

Rose frowned in confusion. "What'd you mean?"

He poured a cup of hot tea from his thermos and handed it to Rose. "I've known that man for a good many years now."

"Since he was a little boy," she agreed, blowing across the top of her steaming beverage.

A mysterious gleam lit his aged eyes. "I'm not quite _that_ old. But for as long as he's been John Smith, at any rate. For a bit before that, too."

She paused, tea halfway to her mouth. "I'm…not following."

He chuckled. "I don't expect you will for a bit. But hear me out." She nodded. He had her attention. "John wasn't always the man you know him as today. He was…broken. So broken. I could see it every time our paths crossed. We met here and there under…extraordinary circumstances. Just seemed to happen that way, like something was binding us together. We got to know each other during those times, and he even let me travel with him a time or two. Because he was lonely, you see. He ended up fulfilling an old man's dream of seeing the stars."

"He's, umm, taken you to the observatory?" she ventured, trying to make some sense of what he was saying.

He gazed skyward, smiling. "A bit farther than that, my dear. That man showed me places and things I can't even begin to describe. It's what he does. He takes people with him whenever he can, because a man like that doesn't do well on his own. And we got on, him and me. I think because we were so much alike. Mind you, I couldn't run as fast, which is why my trips with him were just a few rare treats. But we understood each other – both old soldiers, both alone…"

Rose was growing more confused by the minute, but Wilfred went on.

"Then one day about ten years back, he turned up and asked for my help. He looked so…hollow. So tired. He wanted what we all want: happiness; peace. But those were things he couldn't have. Not with his life and his losses. But he _could_ have another life. John Smith's life. Oh, it was a mad old plan, it was. And I still don't really understand how he flitted about into the past and set all this up – a backstory, an identity for himself, a whole life, really. And he asked me to look out for him. It was the least I could do. He's looked out for all the rest of us on this planet more times than anyone even knows. So how could I not? I might not be his dad, but I'd be honored if I were. So I watched, proud as any father could be, as John Smith's life took shape, founded a corporation from the ground up and eventually married…even if it turned out that first match wasn't quite meant to be."

Rose had gone from confused to concerned, actually starting to question Wilfred's sanity. Flitting into the past? Looking out for the planet?

"This…really isn't making any sense," she admitted.

"Hang on, sweetheart. It will. You see, he'd been through so much, lost so much, hurt so much – and he couldn't bear it anymore. He didn't _want_ to. He just wanted to…forget. Just for a little while, just for a bit, he wanted to feel happiness again. He wanted to find peace. He wanted a chance to _heal_. That's all. Just to heal."

"But–"

"You've done that for him, Rose. You've made him better. I can see it. I'd wager even the nightmares have stopped, eh? That's what he needed. _You're_ what he needed. There were things he was able to forget, and that helped. But now I've also seen the importance of remembering. He helped you remember who you were, find who you are, and heal. Now you can do the same for him. He's not alone anymore. He's got you. He can find himself again and be the man he once was and the man so many need, but now he won't be alone. And, I dunno, but it seems to me that if this chameleon thing can make him like us, he could use it to make you like him, too. If that was something you both wanted some day. Oh, but listen to me. I'm just an old man talking gibberish, eh? He's the one you need to talk to."

Rose shook her head side-to-side. "I-I don't understand _any_ of this."

Wilfred reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out. He opened his wrinkled hand to reveal a fob watch resting in his palm.

Her eyes were instantly drawn to the object. It looked…familiar. Rose realized she'd seen it once before in John's strongbox. Her mind flashed back to the memory:

 _Nestled in the middle was what must have been some sort of heirloom – an old fob watch. She paused for a moment, her gaze oddly drawn to the silver timepiece. She reached a finger toward it, then paused and drew back, shaking herself out of whatever had pulled her focus._

"I always thought I'd give this back to him on my deathbed. But now I think the new life you two have begun is a far better occasion. Give this to him, sweetheart. I think it's time." Wilfred pressed the watch into Rose's hand.

As her fingers curled around the warming metal, her mind was suddenly awhirl with images and voices and emotions. Her eyes tumbled shut and the visions intensified – fire and ice and rage, burning at the center of time, ancient and forever. It was terrifying and wondrous and for a moment she couldn't even breathe, much less make sense of it. But in the midst of the chaos was _him_. It was him. It was John. She could feel him. She could hear him calling to her, enveloping her.

" _It is time. The time is at hand. The time is now. Time needs its Lord. Set me free, my Arkytior. Find me again..."_

Her eyes flew open on a gasp. Drawing a shuddering breath, Rose sprang to her feet and hurried to find John.

 _ **To be continued in "Transparency"**_


End file.
